<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Stalemate by Eastonia, ThreeBlackCats</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24033409">Stalemate</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eastonia/pseuds/Eastonia'>Eastonia</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreeBlackCats/pseuds/ThreeBlackCats'>ThreeBlackCats</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Renegade-Verse [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Superman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(But not really - he managed to escape), BAMF Dick Grayson, BAMF Lois Lane (when she appears), Bruce is a tired dad, Clark Kent &amp; Bruce Wayne Friendship, Clark Kent is in such trouble, Court of Owls, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is a Talon, Dick Grayson-centric, Dick vs the Owls, F/M, Gen, Lois Lane &amp; Bruce Wayne Friendship, Minor Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parliament of Owls, is basically the name of the game</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:06:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>39,336</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24033409</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eastonia/pseuds/Eastonia, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreeBlackCats/pseuds/ThreeBlackCats</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Striking out on your own and going up against a far reaching organisation all by your lonesome...<br/>Isn't maybe the best thing to do when you're freshly escaped from said organisation.<br/>There goes Dick's weekends.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clark Kent &amp; Lois Lane, Dick Grayson &amp; Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson &amp; Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson &amp; Martha Wayne, Dick Grayson &amp; Thomas Wayne, Lois Lane &amp; Bruce Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Renegade-Verse [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686388</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>208</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Centre Fight: Prologue (Clock Start)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seeking_Xanadu/gifts">Seeking_Xanadu</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuffinLance/gifts">MuffinLance</a>.</li>



    </ul><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks once again to our beta Seeking_Xanadu (who has just joined AO3 too!)<br/>Part two of our canon divergence AU of what happens when one thing changes that effects everything else. The first six chapters in the first work in this series happens before this one and can be read first to provide an introduction to the universe<br/>In Divergence we saw how Bruce's life has changed- even if he still ends up in dangerous situations. Now it's Dick's turn...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>Enough.</p><p>He had had enough.</p><p>The figure shrouded in black slunk his way through the dripping, dark waste of the twist and turns. Pausing animal-like here and there.</p><p>There was no one else there. Just darker patches and stains upon darker patches and stains on the floor of this - Labyrinth.</p><p>No one but the figure. And a couple of well-worn paths. There were places others had clearly come and gone - but the corner the figure disappeared into had barely been trod. The dust had been stirred a couple of times, but it had also been carefully swept back into a good approximation of where it originally been.</p><p>Now, if you would have followed the figure, you would’ve seen a middle-sized statue of some kind of raptor mid-strike. The slightest glint of bronze pressed slowly against the base. Pushing ever so gently.</p><p>The statue moved.</p><p>The faintest lift of a draft worked its way into the soupy atmosphere of the maze. Behind the podium was this clearly sealed passage – dry in the same way the furnace areas of the Labyrinth was dry, but not with periodic overwhelming heat.</p><p>The person – for it was a person, despite the claws and the facsimile of a beak and owl-like features – blew gently at the dust outside the passage, trying his best to cover the tracks and slide-marks; before ever-so quietly moving the statue back into place. He collapsed against the back of the statue in relief.</p><p>The sigh was barely audible. The relief palpable for a moment before tension once again filled his form. Anxiety gripped him. If you were there you would have heard the quiet gasps of panic settling in.</p><p>This was nothing new, this was everything new.</p><p>This was nothing and everything like the times he led others - the ones that could and would still <em> live </em> after the horrors the Owls subjected them to. The other ones - well that was what a quick blow and the furnaces were for.</p><p>He stood, feeling his way along the sides of the tunnel, moving forward before he suddenly stopped. He clawed at the sides, hitting the talons again. And again. And again. Till…</p><p>Plink.</p><p>Plink.</p><p>Plink.</p><p>The sonorous metal fell one by one. Exposing pale fingertips as they clattered to the floor. He caressed the sides in wonder, bent over as silent sobs wracked his body. Revelling in the ease and nimbleness of fine motor control. And just as quickly as the tension was relieved, it returned in full force.</p><p>He picked up a couple of the talons.</p><p>The passage was long. And it wound. With twists and turns and branches. The only guide was a small, barely detectable glyph of that raptor – leading... somewhere. And even then at the end of the line, there’s a dead end.</p><p>Most people would give up at this point – accept that there is no escape. Not him. Not the people that left the Labyrinth. There is a secret. And as he had done before, he reached out to the wall that made the dead end and softly tapped.</p><p>Thunk.</p><p>Behind the shroud the figure smirked. This will begin their downfall. No matter how high and mighty they are – they still need to <em> breathe </em>. The sides of the passage revealed a concealed maintenance shaft entrance.</p><p>And he moved.</p><p>If the passage was confusing, then the ventilation system was muddled. It had an odd structured pattern – like if you just had a map, you’d know how to navigate it. As it stood, lots of guess work was required.</p><p>Guess work and an advantage the figure did not expect.</p><p>Rain.</p><p>He remembered rain. It had been so long. Too long. Behind the lenses his eyes closed as he concentrated on the sound. There. Louder there rather than here.</p><p>He moved. Stopping every now and then to navigate ever closer to the sound of rain. They’d done something to him. He knew. His hearing was better than before. His ability to tell where sounds and things would be without his eyesight greater than when he first was drug into that… place.</p><p>It was like he spent decades learning the knife thrower’s act. Every nuance, every whisper that passed between the assistant and the thrower. That skill that’s not strictly superhuman but pretty damn close?</p><p>Something changed.</p><p>And he had no intentions of changing any further.</p><p>There was a change in the vent’s surface, it grew slick and slimy from… something. The sharp, sour smell of rust and rot filled the air. And light.</p><p>Mangy, yellow, sulphurous fog-piercing streetlamp light. Interspersed with the grid-like pattern of yet another vent cover. It was finicky work attempting to unscrew the vent leading back to the outside world from the inside of the shaft but the figure managed. He squeezed himself cautiously outside and replaced the cover – ensuring no evidence was left behind that anything had ever emerged from this particular place.</p><p>Looking around as the rain pour down on him, he wandered directly under the streetlamp to read off where he was.</p><p>“Park Row huh?”</p><p>The pool of light and rain was a baptism of sorts. Rebirth into a life he maybe should have had. If. If his family didn't fall. If he didn't chase after Zucco. If he had just stayed in the juvenile centre. If. If. If.</p><p>No more ifs.</p><p>He pulled off the mask, exposing Mediterranean blue eyes to the outside world - Dick breathed in freedom. And sighed.</p><p>“Welcome back to Gotham, Dick. Hope she treats you better this time around.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Also, one of our most loyal commentors, DreamstarMoonlight created an AMAZING piece of coverart for us in a collab with AireensColor!</p><p>Find his tumblr post about the work here: https://dreamstarmoonlight.tumblr.com/post/645067111960592384/renegade-stalemate-cover-art</p><p>And AireensColor's Instagram here:<br/>https://www.instagram.com/aireenscolor/?hl=en</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Centre Fight: Opening Part 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>No one ever claimed being a self-made hero was glamourous business.<br/>And turns out vengeance is expensive.<br/>(So no food, no home, no identity and only the vaguest of plans... what is a fresh escapee from the Parliament to do?)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gotham has changed.</p><p>Change is inevitable, expected even. </p><p>But Dick, now with a nifty little Outreach ID that read ‘Rick Johnson’, was still a little bit breath taken to see just how much the Gotham he escaped to differed from Gotham he had been taken from. Truth be told, Gotham was a city progressing forward – the old warnings his parents had given starting to slowly not apply. Not in the same capacity.</p><p>The first Gotham show Dick remembered was back from when he was around five-years-old. About a decade ago. Haly’s Circus returned to Gotham for a show every couple years.</p><p>The Owls had stolen these maybe-about-five years from him; and it hurt that in the one month he had been free from the Owls, from their Courts and Parliaments, he was yet to do anything to strike back.</p><p>Yes, Dick knew that he had to lay low. He had to make sure they never found him. Make sure they never dragged him back into the gloom. But it was so hard to do that when all he was doing was…</p><p>Washing dishes.</p><p>The load piled up next to him – the lunch rush was just starting to wind down and it certainly didn’t help that Dick had a bad habit of completing the dishes… by hand. Really, there was a perfectly good dishwashing machine right there and most of the time, he forgot he could use it.</p><p>“JOHNSON! ANOTHER LOAD COMING IN!”</p><p>“Aye captain!”</p><p>“Oh so it’s speak like a pirate day now is it lad?”</p><p>“Nope!”</p><p>Yes, Dick. Aka Rick Johnson, was dishwasher extraordinaire at Tobias’ Hang Out. The place-slash-shelter-slash-hangout-slash-community centre for pretty much everyone under the age of nineteen. Tobias was, of course, the owner.</p><p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p><p>This was how Dick ended up with Tobias as a boss.</p><p>It was barely a week into his freedom. Dick found a place to stay – where the director of the Shelter took one look at how skittish he was and immediately assigned him to one of the single rooms. Along with a few dozen pamphlets detailing the services he could access.</p><p>The Wayne Tutoring Centre opened in the afternoon and ran till around dinner. So with nothing in particular to do in the mornings, Dick found himself at the recruitment centre – cautiously poking around the ‘adolescent’ jobs on offer.</p><p>This was where he ran into Tobias – next thing he knew, he had a job. An actual income. And all the leftovers from breakfast he wanted to keep and get a meal of his choice at lunch</p><p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>Tobias Mackeegan was a tall, lanky man who  walked like he had borne the weight of the world on his shoulders. His dirty blond hair was more ‘dirty’ than ‘blond’ under the fluorescent kitchen lights. His subtle good looks were mostly covered up by his stone-faced features. Which gave <em> nothing </em> away. Like he had forgotten how to make expressions a long time ago. But his hazel-green eyes could tell you his entire story.</p><p>Spend a minute interacting with Tobias, and the truth became apparent.</p><p>Tobias <em> knew </em> things. He had lived life. But his eyes – his green eyes said everything. Tobias Mackeegan had lived, and while living had seen things. The university of life had clearly broke him.</p><p>But some obstinate part of him had remained good and kind. And that something was what drove him to walk into the Wayne Foundation (one day, whilst a certain Martha Wayne was there) to pitch his idea. Threadbare clothes, no social security number, a toddler that insisted her name was ‘Toby’ and a past he wasn’t talking about – he described his dream of creating a place for kids to feel <em> safe </em> in. Somewhere they could grab a meal, hang out or just spend hours at without the nervousness of having to constantly buy a drink. Somewhere anyone under the age of nineteen could just go and hunker down. </p><p>Obviously – it worked.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p><p>The usual kitchen rush hour was on – and Dick’s boss had no qualms about being a dogsbody in his own establishment.</p><p>The kitchen was full of people benefiting from Wayne outreach who didn’t really want much contact with people they didn’t fully trust yet. Doug, who worked the fryers - he used to be a part of some gang and then decided to get out – get on the ‘straight and narrow’ as he called it. A big, burly guy who was keeping his head down as much as he could. </p><p>A girl called Zee-Cue who did so much she’s not proud of, now batting clean-up for the rest of the kitchen staff. She did a little of everything, even though her job was just kitchen prep and main baker. </p><p>And finally the twins, (cousins really) Maddie and Steve who alternated between cooking, grilling and plating – what’s their story? No one knew really, and no one was going to ask until they were ready to share.</p><p>Then there’s Jem, Tom and Sam-Yon. All wait staff, all decidedly not on the payroll. They’re volunteers. They do this to get community service hours for some reason or other. But, there’s a reason why Tobias kept them up front. Unlike the kitchen staff, they weren’t attempting to glue back broken pieces.</p><p>Dick’s mechanical cleaning slowed as his frustration built. To be fair – it had been a month since he left the Labyrinth. A month in which he had done <em> nothing </em> .Despite his enthusiasm – and his training – the Owls had never bothered to teach him the <em> hows </em> of starting an investigation.</p><p>“Yo Johnson! Your lunch is coming up right? Wanna hang?”</p><p>Dick flinched out of his dish induced daze, blinking at Tom. All the volunteers had an innocence about them – an innocence he once shared. The shift of Tom’s friendly, open expression told Dick he’d spaced out again. He shrugged, cocking his head at the pile.</p><p>“Nah, got to take down Everest here. If I break now the dishes will just climb higher.”</p><p>Tom had that look the volunteers got when they realised just how different the kitchen staff were from them. The look people get when they could physically feel the baggage that came with interacting with such a person. Tom backed away warily as Dick sighed and returned to the load.</p><p>“You sure you don’t want to take that break? You’ve been going since the opening rush.”</p><p>“Still haven’t made that dent, Mr. Tobias.”</p><p>“Kid, you know you can just use the dishwasher right?”</p><p>“I know. I just…”</p><p>Tobias despite his height, was not a big man by any means. But life left its mark on him, and that mark translated to <em> presence </em>. The glare helped.</p><p>Dick vowed in his head that he would lift Tobias’s glare off him one day. It was an unintentional sort of glare on Tobias’ part, but it had this feel – one that tore its way into your soul – making you feel like a  little rodent about to be lunch. Dick backed down.</p><p>“Go kid. Grab your lunch around the back. I think Zee prepped stew for the kitchen communal meal. I’ll take the dishes from here.”</p><p>With that Tobias plunged his hands into the sudsy water and continued where Dick had left off. And that was that.</p><p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p><p>Zee’s communal kitchen staff stew was this hearty mess of a thing that used all the rest of the scraps of burgers, sausages and other meats along with the typical stew ingredients. Because someone (it was Maddie) accidentally knocked the timer over the staff also had a whole industrial sized tray of slightly burnt, buttery, southern-style buttermilk biscuits to eat with it. Dick grabbed five.</p><p>He made his way to a tiny alcove which had a view of the skylight. The bleak Gotham sunlight beat its way down into his bones. The alcove was something Dick had stumbled across one day. It was barely visible from the floor his was on and practically invisible from the ground. Coincidentally, it was also a great place for surveillance. Not that Dick intended to use it for surveillance.</p><p>If he accidentally <em> did </em> use it for surveillance, it was unintentional. <em> Completely unintentional </em>.</p><p>Dick was <em> frustrated </em>.</p><p>He had no leads. No way to strike at the Owls who ruined his life. The barest inkling on how to get off the ground by that one mercenary that only got hired because he could take down a… thing that he was ‘supposed’ to become.</p><p>Dick sighed and let his head knock back on the wall, staring up at the sky when snippets of a conversation drifted up at him. Dick casually leaned forward, just enough so he could watch.</p><p>“…yeah man, that’s what I heard!”</p><p>“But Diego’s not one to work with the richies – he barely even gets close to the Wayne stuff!”</p><p>“The payout dude. The payout is HUGE and we wouldn’t even need to do much. Just move a couple boxes. Play lookout a bit. Do a little graffiti…”</p><p>“I don’t know man – you know the stories about them Voldemort wannabes. Do we really want…” </p><p>“Look! -”</p><p>“Gentlemen.” Tobias interrupted. </p><p>The glare this time was entirely intentional. The boys shrunk under his stare. It was one thing to provide a service-slash-shelter-slash-business that teens (and younger) can feel safe at. It’s one thing to be known as a safe adult. It’s another to get Tobias, disappointed. </p><p>No one dared mess with Tobias Mackeegan.</p><p>The one rule Tobias had about the Hang Out was that you must genuinely want to get out. Or if you didn’t want to get out – to at least leave all ‘business’ at the threshold.</p><p>“Sorry sir.”</p><p>“You know the rules boys. None of that in here.”</p><p>“Yes sir.”</p><p>Dick blinked. His two unfinished biscuits untouched. The description was pretty darn clear for anyone knowing what to look for.</p><p>He asked. He’s received. Dick had his lead.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Centre Fight: Opening Part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A step forward is a step forward. Doesn't matter if the step is a stumble or a stride or something in between.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There was much Dick thought about as he packed his leftover biscuits away. The first being ‘what are the odds?’, and the next being ‘how much of a trap is this?’.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Opportunities like this did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> just fall into Dick’s lap. He had learnt that long, </span>
  <em>
    <span>long</span>
  </em>
  <span> ago. So, the question now was: “To spring the trap or not to spring the trap?”.  Dick meandered down from his little alcove as he decided.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On the side of being safe, also known as, don’t spring the trap was rather obviously – the Owls will not find you. If this entire operation was meant to draw Dick out, then the best course of action would be not to go along with it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But what if?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What if this was the real deal? Dick thought. What if this was the break he had been half-heartedly chasing after? What if this was his chance?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What if this allowed him to actually start to fight back?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Really, it wasn’t much of a decision at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tracking the thug was laughably easy. Mainly because they had bee-lined to one of the booths while trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. Which of course, only served to make them look suspicious as all heck to anyone paying attention. Dick meandered with his dirty dish, collecting random plates as he went. The very moment the guy stood to shimmy out of the booth, Dick jostled him. Just enough so that he could catch a look at the app the guy’s second-hand iPhone was on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Twitter. Score.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>@HoodlumLyfe – Dick grinned, that was easy enough to trace. Additionally, Mr.HoodlumLyfe was using Tobias’ general free WiFi – this actually made it even easier. Tobias’ HangOut’s WiFi was rather notorious for being a bit iffy on the connection during the rush – plans were being made for upgrading it but that would still take time. For now, they’d all suffer the connection drops.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry.” Dick threw at them, stabilising the pile of crockery in his hands; walking straight into the kitchen. He had to finish his shift – but then, afterwards? He had a kid to trace.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick’s shift finished right after the lunch rush. With the air growing cold and the winds beginning to pick up, Tobias didn’t typically get much of the ‘in standard education’ crowd hanging about till after the dismissal bell rung.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Given that quite a number of ‘Outreach kids’ couldn’t exactly attend standard education normally, the Hub provided ‘home-school’ sessions which allowed children, teens and adults the opportunity to receive their GEDs and apply for the ACTs or SATs (whichever they so pleased).</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Dick packed his haversack (nestling the leftovers securely on the top) he pulled out his ‘homework’ to review his answers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Rickie!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mr Tobias?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen I know you have your classes to get to so I’ll be fast. Cue’s got a full check up at one of the clinics today so I need someone to run stocks for tomorrow’s batch.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick’s eyes widened imperceptibly. “Oh it’s supply day today?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, the Hub’s slowly cutting back the shelf food supply as we get more self-sufficient. But Cue was supposed to do the run today so…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh! Toby’s recital is today?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tobias sighed and rubbed the back of his head, “Yeah it is, I know you don’t typically do this and…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Say no more Mr Tobias - I’ll handle it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tobias chuckled, “I keep telling you guys you’re all good kids.” he reached over and patted Dick’s shoulder. “Maybe one day you’ll believe me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unfortunately he wasn't able to go pick up the supplies right away since Dick had his education to attend to. His home-school sessions at the Hub today were almost laughably easy. Again, the benefits of being part of the Wayne Outreach were truly something.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maths, Computer Science and Chemistry. Also known as – stuff you need to know to be an effective Talon as according to the Owls. His old tutor with regards to sabotage in the digital world would be deeply disappointed – and maybe a little amused at the dismally basic knowledge the local education curriculum’s was conveying. As it happened – this meant that Dick’s time in the Computer Science classroom was now finally being put to good use.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>@HoodlumLyfe (aka, according to his Facebook page: Irvin Swann, born on the twelfth of October) was terribly trusting with the use of his personal data.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Irvin Swann had links to </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span> on his Twitter. A Youtube account (links included) where he was desperately trying to video log his way to his fifteen minutes of fame. A Tumblr link and… the jackpot – a direct link to his Facebook page.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A Facebook page with – of all things – his mobile phone number. Just there. No privacy settings. No friends only settings. Just *there*. For the entire online world to see.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Way to go Irvin Swann.’ Dick thought as he rolled his eyes, he was slightly amazed himself. What was it like to be that trusting? He wondered. What was it like to be so desperate for fame and fortune that you give up privacy? And why, of all things would you be a thug if you were comfortably upper middle classed?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sat back in his chair and with a few clicks on the WXOver prototype, he had a real-time tracker of Mr. Swann's mobile phone's location.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>About a fortnight ago, the Hub held a raffle of sorts. Apparently, the WayneTech research and development department wanted to learn about how intuitive their mobile phone-PDA hybrid was with various age and income groups. They called it the Wayne XOver.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick (or, to be fair, Rick Johnson) had been one of the lucky hundred or so in various age groups to have been randomly selected to test the device.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So far it had been something of a blessing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Prepaid plans were easy to use and discard and his convenient Outreach ID allowed him to obtain the number without problems. In fact, the fact he technically only needed to leave his room to use a computer and not the internet was a complete gift.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick could programme little reminders that he couldn’t on a regular mobile - like Tobias’ supplies! Dick let out a little groan as he remembered that in his excitement, he had done something pretty uncharacteristic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hoped this wouldn’t take too long - he still had to take the supplies to the HangOut. In a rare instance of forgetfulness, Dick had left them in his Hub Locker.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick pulled on the dark grey sweat-wicking turtlenecked vest over his head and zipped up the navy hoodie. Throwing his body pouch over a shoulder, he waited for the shadows in Gotham to grow long and slipped out his modified attic window.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clambering light-footedly onto the roof, he checked his GPS tracker and took off across the rooftops towards the South Quay.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Docks of the South Quay were rugged, large industrial looking things. They were designed for high traffic and efficiency. The Wayne Warehouses in particular were designed to reflect this aesthetic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick paused a moment as he hovered over the faint strains of music of the Quayside Community Auditorium. Beneath the glass skylights a little girl danced, pure delight written across her face. Somewhere in the crowd was Tobias cheering his littlest charge on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Toby looked radiant in the spotlight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A pang ached inside his chest as he recalled another child basking in a spotlight. Warm smiles showering him as a crowd called his name. Comforting arms pulling him away. A family of three sheltering him as his world shattered. He shook his head and refocused.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Wayne Warehouses were just a little further ahead. The GPS reading showed they seemed to be headed to number 42. With a little bit of clever parkour, he actually would be able to beat Mr Swann and his associates there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick’s hand grasped the drainpipe, tucking himself into a ball he flung himself higher into the sky to land cat-like upon the fire escape. The roof access hatch was a simple lockpick job and he slipped easily into the rafters of Warehouse 42.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glanced at the GPS tracker, noting that Mr Swann was still apparently outside the building, giving Dick ample time to set up his phony WiFi signal. Just as he finished his set up he heard the ‘clunk’ of the sound of a lock being physically forced.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He groaned to himself - yet another thing for him to do before tomorrow morning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sweet!” Came the voice of one of Irvin’s associates, “Free guest WiFi!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yup!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No password required?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nope!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well… isn’t that a little odd?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah no. It’s one of those coffeeshop WiFis. Disconnects you every thirty minutes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well then! Sweet! Hey Irv!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Free WiFi!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sweet! I don’t need to use my data then! Freaking job wants me to send a video as proof we did the deed over. Soooo obviously they don’t know how damn long those take to send over.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“At least you can send it over Skype now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah man.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The five boys milled about on the dimly lit floor, stopping every now and then to look at something or other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“GUYS! LOOK!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my… is that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yuuuuup, the prototype! That one that was rumoured about.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oooh… Wait is this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yup the one they want us to ‘misplace’ somewhere. Get some man or other in trouble.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And then owls? Really? Owl graffiti all over these boxes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, the payout is sweet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Still man, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wayne Holdings</span>
  </em>
  <span>. If they ever find out, we’d be in so much trouble.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, we just won’t get found out. Here. Help me move these into that locker.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they shifted the boxes slowly, Dick compared the boys to the Facebook profile pictures of Irvin’s friends.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Easy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martin Whoston, Joey Sharp, Tony Routhme and George Fredrijg. All comfortably bored middle-ish class teens. Boys that thought vandalism and criminal activity was just a little bit of excitement needed in their lives.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick pitied them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Some part of him, the part that got locked away safely behind doors so </span>
  <em>
    <span>they</span>
  </em>
  <span> couldn’t touch it, protested against letting them complete the job. This was wrong. They were wrong. They needed to be stopped. Maybe a stint of community service. Maybe walk a mile together with the families that would be affected by their need for a rush.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the other part of him? The one that reminded him of the bigger picture urged him to wait.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And so Dick waited.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The shuffling continued until a good seven boxes had been stowed away in that small hidden alcove. The rattle and spray of the cans of paint continued on for a good fifteen minutes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit. I’m nearly at curfew!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait, what time is it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Five to eleven.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dammit okay. Let’s take the video and </span>
  <em>
    <span>go</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick turned his attention to his set up. He attached a trojan onto the file being sent and waited. Within moments the trace lit up. Three possible locations appeared. One was moving. One was in a relatively affluent residential area and the last? The last was in the finance hub of Gotham.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And if Dick knew anything about </span>
  <em>
    <span>them</span>
  </em>
  <span> it was that they couldn’t resist being flashy - in an incognito manner.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the nitwits scrambled out of the Warehouse Dick sighed once again. This was going to take a while.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Johnson!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick startled awake from his slumped over position where his head was in serious danger of slipping into the dishwater. He curbed his defensive instinct just in time to note that Mr Tobias was standing there. Watching him. With a single raised brow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wha… Sorry Mr Tobias…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Late night?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Dick yawned, “you could say that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick had (in the following order) slipped back to deliver the supplies to the HangOut, taken turpentine and some spare repair kits from the HangOut, gone back to Warehouse 42 and moved everything back, cleaned up the vandalism, deleted the evidence that he was ever there, repaired the nitwits shoddy break-in job and then sorted out the supplies at the HangOut.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All before collapsing into his own bed at about three in the morning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was not what he thought vengeance would be like.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You look peaky Rickie. Head back. I’ll give your classes a ring.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You sure,” Dick yawned again, “Mr Tobias? The rush…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Off with you…” Tobias yawned, “Now, before you infect us all with that!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick laughed a little. A start was a start - no matter how boring. But first, sleep.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Centre Fight: Developing Pieces</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the dimly lit attic studio of one of the Wayne Outreach Shelters, cerulean eyes were lit up by the glow of the screen of a Wayne XOver.</p><p> </p><p>Dick had been keeping an eye on all incoming and outgoing messages of the Owl’s intimidation operations - luckily their main servers in the financial district were pretty easily tapped (why even <em> were </em> they using Windows Vista?) - when something caught his attention.</p><p> </p><p>“Prevent Flynn Hawthorne from testifying. Physical intimidation requested. Hospitalisation preferred.” Dick tilted his head in contemplation. “Huh.”</p><p> </p><p>-.-.-.-</p><p> </p><p>Flynn Hawthorne lived in a one bedroom apartment on the third floor of a building a couple blocks away from the financial district. He worked for Gotham Central reviewing investment packages and giving advice on retirement funds. The apartment had likely been chosen because of its proximity to his place of work. He did not have much of a social life outside of a book club that met once a month. Most of his family lived up north in Canada. He spent most evenings watching movies he rented from the Blockbuster down the street.</p><p> </p><p>Most of this information had come from his contact who gave him the job but Gideon had spent a couple days tailing him just to verify. Most of the information didn’t matter. What mattered was that if he didn’t have work the next day no one would immediately notice that something was wrong if he didn’t show up anywhere. Not that he would be offing him or anything like that. Not for this job at least. This time it was just good old fashioned intimidation. Scare the guy well enough that he’ll think better of going to the courthouse in a few days. He supposedly would have already been warmed up a bit through a few messages to the same effect. Gideon was just the icing on the cake.</p><p> </p><p>Gideon had decided to get into the apartment through the fire escape around midnight. He should be finishing up his movie around then. Gideon would sneak up behind him, grab him, make it very clear he and his friends knew where he lived, and ask him, nicely, not to go anywhere near the courthouse for the next few weeks. Oh, and he could forget all about the phone conversation he had overheard his boss having. Everyone would be happy then.</p><p> </p><p>Unfortunately, as he finished his climb up the fire escape, he discovered he was not the first person to get there. </p><p> </p><p>“You should be more careful.” The hooded figure said as he unfolded from his crouch. “You never know who might be lurking in these shadows.” </p><p>And that was the last thing Gideon heard (or saw) before waking up on a train in Mexico. And by that point, he had resolved to go underground for a long, <em> long </em>time.</p><p> </p><p>Gideon had always been a suspicious sort, and if being a suspicious sort was going to save his life? The Owls could <em> keep </em>their money. He had no intention of being found.</p><p> </p><p>No intention of encountering a Talon after his head.</p><p> </p><p>-.-.-.-</p><p> </p><p>Flynn collapsed back upon the wall of his flat, breathing heavily as the dark clothed man reappeared out of nowhere.</p><p> </p><p>“Gah!” He started. “Do you always do that?”</p><p> </p><p>Flynn got the distinct impression that the figure was asking him, ‘really now?’ despite the fact he couldn’t make out anything of his features.</p><p> </p><p>“So, what now?”</p><p> </p><p>The voice that replied was smooth and velvety, almost too cultured and, oddly enough, slightly <em> British </em> sounding. “You get safe. Your testimony is important to the case, yes? Mr Dent asked you if you’d like some security and you turned it down… Why?”</p><p> </p><p>Flynn sighed. “Who’d come after me? I’m no one. I’m just an accountant.”</p><p> </p><p>“An accountant that happened to find something important enough for Dent to offer protection to.”</p><p> </p><p>“I… might not have considered that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe you should?”</p><p> </p><p>Flynn ruffled the hair at the back of his head, “I think I have Sergeant Riordan’s address here somewhere.</p><p> </p><p>“Good, pack your bags. You’re headed there.”</p><p> </p><p>“But,” Flynn looked at his mysterious protector “What if there are more?”</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t say you’ll be alone.”</p><p> </p><p>-.-.-.-</p><p> </p><p>Despite all the improvements the Waynes had worked into Gotham, Gotham was still <em> Gotham </em>. And Gotham in general is not exactly a friendly place that you could go wandering about willy-nilly at night.</p><p> </p><p>As Flynn hurried through the streets to the Riordan residence he glanced every now and then up into the shadows above the streetlights. There was something reassuring about having a guardian angel watching out for you.</p><p> </p><p>Knocking at the Riordans’ door, he stumbled as it opened suddenly to a flame haired woman. “Mr Hawthorne.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sergeant. You were right. I didn’t...”</p><p> </p><p>“No worries. We’ve had too many witnesses suddenly disappear or disavow themselves to question someone who’d prefer to come to us.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think I would be here if it wasn’t for that guardian angel.”</p><p> </p><p>“Guardian angel eh?” Kate Riordan mused as she dismissed the thought that someone out there might actually be looking out for Gotham now. But if there was someone out there looking out for Gotham…</p><p> </p><p>Kate wished them the best of luck whoever they were. She tried to fight back against the crime that seemed to be a constant occurrence in the city as a police officer but it was an uphill battle for her family. The number of corrupt officials in both the police and the city government made it worse and it seemed like they needed all the help they could get. If this guardian angel was helping people...</p><p> </p><p>Maybe it would be a good idea to team up.</p><p> </p><p>-.-.-.-</p><p> </p><p>It took a couple of days for the trial to wrap up. It wasn’t considered big news anywhere outside of the business community but thanks to the testimony of Flynn Hawthorne, his boss and three other company managers were found guilty for insider trading on the stock market. The overheard phone call had implied that there were others involved in the scheme; Harvey Dent from the district attorney’s office promised that they would do everything they could to find out who was involved.</p><p> </p><p>Dick had read the news in the Gotham Gazette during his break. As he worked on some particularly troublesome grease, he smiled to himself. Flynn was alright and the Owls hadn’t been able to get away with their crime. And this was just the beginning.</p><p> </p><p>The door to the kitchen opened and Dick schooled his expression into something more neutral as Tobias walked in.</p><p> </p><p>“You doing alright with those, Rick?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes sir.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s good.” he sighed. “You know, I think I saw some sun peaking through the usual Gotham cloud cover this morning. That’s a rare sight for Gotham. I wish we got to see it more.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick smiled a private smile. “Maybe it’s a sign?”</p><p> </p><p>Tobias’ oddly expressionless face returned the smile from the only place he seemed to know how to smile any longer, his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe.”</p><p> </p><p>-.-.-.-</p><p> </p><p>“An outrage! A complete outrage!”</p><p> </p><p>“I am aware.”</p><p> </p><p>“How could this have slipped through our fingers? We paid that man good money!”</p><p> </p><p>“I was there when it happened.”</p><p> </p><p>“A random thug can’t just make off with parliament money! An example needs to be made out of that piece of-”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you just going to keep ranting all evening or are we going to solve this problem?”</p><p> </p><p>The Owl who had been ranting and pacing around stopped in his tracks. They were in one of the Parliament’s smaller meeting rooms so there were only a few Owls in attendance. Just the ones who had been given the job of solving this minor problem. A minor problem with some worrying implications.</p><p> </p><p>“So everyone is aware of the facts of the situation,” the Owl at the head of the table said. “Now does anyone have practical solutions instead of complaining?”</p><p> </p><p>“I think the answer is obvious,” A woman who had pushed her mask to the side just enough that she could continue drinking her very large cup of coffee. “We need to stop relying on these unreliable thugs.”</p><p> </p><p>“A fair point but that does not help us with the problem of this particular one.” The head Owl threaded her fingers together. “It would be best to somehow make an example of him.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s what I was saying-”</p><p> </p><p>“Sit. Down.”</p><p> </p><p>The ranting Owl sat down, grumbling.</p><p> </p><p>“That much was obvious.” A large sip of coffee. “But this problem is part of a larger trend. Whenever we contract out to get something done it goes wrong.”</p><p> </p><p>“There have been plenty of successful operations.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, but they are counterbalanced by some colossal failures. Remind me, how many of our attempts to get our hands on the Wayne boy have been successful?”</p><p> </p><p>“This isn’t a meeting about the Wayne problem.”</p><p> </p><p>“It is part of the same trend. We cannot keep relying on outside help.” Sip. “There is only one way to make sure our jobs go right.”</p><p> </p><p>“And what is that supposed to be?” grumbled the ranting Owl.</p><p> </p><p>“The Talon.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wait! Talons are real?!”</p><p> </p><p>The other two Owls exchanged a look. The air of silent “who on earth thought it was a good idea to recruit this guy” judgement filled the room.</p><p> </p><p>“Of course the Talons are real. They have just been...lacking in recent years.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then why haven’t we been using them?”</p><p> </p><p>“Because,” the Owl at the head of the table grumbled. “Talons are for big operations and there is no need to use them for every little thing. Especially things we don’t want directly associated with us.”</p><p> </p><p>“Using the Talon would at least lessen our reliance on these common thugs and the less we bother with them the better.”</p><p> </p><p>“This is irrelevant. We’re going to make an example of the man who screwed up <em> this time </em>. Suggestions for future operations should be put forward at the appropriate time.”</p><p> </p><p>“I would but no one listens to me in those meetings. They’re too big.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do either of you have any suggestions for the current topic of our meeting?”</p><p> </p><p>“We should kill him!” The ranting Owl slammed his fist into the table.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay. How and by who? I don’t think finances would look very kindly on hiring someone for that.”</p><p> </p><p>“It needs to look like an accident.” The Owl with the coffee set her cup down.</p><p> </p><p>“But that goes against our goal of trying to make an example of him,” The ranting Owl growled.</p><p> </p><p>The head Owl frowned behind her mask. “This trial has already brought too much negative publicity on our members, and legal consequences. The lawyers are already working on minimizing those but we can’t risk anything too obvious at this point in time.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then how are we going to-”</p><p> </p><p>“It just needs to look enough like an accident that the GCPD can write it off. Car accident maybe. Or fell from a great height.”</p><p> </p><p>“Car accidents can be easy to arrange.” The coffee Owl picked up her cup for another large gulp. “Just mess up the brakes.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s a good idea. Hiring someone to disable some brakes shouldn’t cost as much as hiring someone to kill a guy. That’ll make finances happy.”</p><p> </p><p>“We’re going to need to track him down first.”</p><p> </p><p>“There are only so many places in Gotham someone can hide and we have eyes in most of them, he’ll turn up.”</p><p> </p><p>“Now that we have decided what is to be done can we move on to my proposal? About the Talon?”</p><p> </p><p>The Owl seated at the head of the table tapped her fingers against the table, the lacquer of her manicure resonating sharply against the wood.</p><p> </p><p>“The trouble is, all our current Talons are only good for assassinations. And our newest one currently in training is in no way ready to become a fully fledged Talon. The Gray Son will be a totally new breed of Talon - one we all will be glad to look to as our supreme leader. Creating a new world, where we watch and we reign. And. Are worshipped, as we should be.” She looked sharply at the ranting Owl.</p><p> </p><p>“The Gray Son is still not ready. However… we can see how far he has come along.” She stood. “This meeting is adjourned.” she said as she strode away, the click-clack of her stilettos echoing through the chamber as she busily tapped away on the screen of her burnished new iPhone 3G.</p><p> </p><p>The dial-tone abruptly ended as the line connected.</p><p> </p><p>“Wintergreen speaking.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Centre Fight: Escalation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sometimes you need an outside perspective.<br/>Sometimes you just need out.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The air was still as the woman crouched over the glow of the computer screen and held her breath. Her violet eyes gleamed in victory as she found the information she sought. She released a long sigh of relief as her shoulders relieved themselves of the tension they held. Moving as swiftly as the poor choice in the Windows Vista servers allowed, she looked up at the man peering through the slats of the blinds at the door and groaned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bruce… is going to be so mad at us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, Kate did say this was going to be a risky job.” came his response, almost flippantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t change the fact he’s going to be mad at us.” Lois Lane bit at Harvey Dent as she ran more simple searches on the computer while he kept an eye out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should’ve gone into law while he had the chance if he really wanted to keep us out of trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha!” Lois muttered as she copied files onto her pendrive, “That’s the entire reason why he’s a doctor. He’s so resigned to our shenanigans that he’s settled for patching us up after the fact!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And my working relationship with Kate… probably doesn’t help matters.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What tipped you off? The exasperated sigh when you congratulated her on becoming Sergeant Riordian or the speech on why being on the fast lane to becoming District Attorney isn’t a good mix with the maverick wunderkind of the G.P.D?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harvey glared at Lois and sighed. “Just, get those files for your exposé. It’ll be easier to back Reighart into that corner for embezzlement and corruption if we’ve got the media on our side.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the minutes ticked by in that tense silence, a sudden thud near-echoed in the silence of the office.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harvey peered once again through the slats. The dimly lit office floor of Reighart’s lobbyist department seemed empty enough - if it weren’t for the bulky shape he could barely make out slowly disappearing behind one of the cubicle dividers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lois?” He spoke lowly, in a quiet voice he knew was less likely to be overheard than a whisper. “We did check on the security right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. This place was somehow considered low risk. Patrols only go past every three hours or so. Why?” came her equally quiet reply as she finished up, disconnecting her pendrive with the precious information.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They weren’t due for another fifty minutes right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you get your big blue friend to help us out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lois winced as she glanced down at her watch. “He’s not big into coming into Gotham. Told me once that helping in Gotham would be like using a wrecking ball to open a safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Basically,” she shrugged, “The property damage he’d cause would not be worth it. Something about lead. He’ll give us a lift, but that’s it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great, just great.” Harvey muttered as he backed himself up against the wall, making way for Lois to peer through the slats herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” she breathed, as they watched another goon dressed in some sort of inaccurate security outfit make their way into the floor space of the department. As she and Harvey simultaneously braced themselves to run, the ‘guard’ promptly seemed to trip over themselves. A dark shadow sprang forth from the cubicles and the lump that was the ‘security guard’ disappeared into the darkness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, whatever it is, it’s on our side. I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are the odds of you just being a go-dooder attractor Lois?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” She asked Harvey with a single raised brow, before being distracted as they watched the shadow seem to spring forth and shut the the entrance to the floor before racing over to them. As the figure reached them, Lois made a split second decision based on her instincts. “But, we’ll trust him.” And she opened the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a him. They could see that all too clearly now. The figure was just about Lois’ height and covered head to toe in dark clothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come,” came the low, velvety voice. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>A tenor, Harvey noted. </span>
  <span></span><br/>

  <span>A young-ish tenor, Lois thought. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Your operation was compromised from the start. The information your contact gave you was designed to catch you and Sergeant Riordian in a position in which they could discredit all of you at once. Both your respective connections to the Waynes would have a knock on effect on the city. That’s what they intended.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is the evidence even real?” Harvey asked, as Lois fiddled with the pendrive, wondering if all of this was for naught.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded “Yes, high risk, high reward. The possibility of knocking you out of the running for district attorney, discrediting Miss Lane as an honest investigative reporter and revealing the measures Sergeant Riordian is willing to pursue? Too tempting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lois interrupted “And who are the </span>
  <em>
    <span>they</span>
  </em>
  <span> you mentioned? What stake could they have on this? Why are they against the Waynes? I’m assuming that being associated with the three of us when we ‘get caught’ by security would cast a shadow on their reputation?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly. And you should know who </span>
  <em>
    <span>they</span>
  </em>
  <span> are Mr Dent.” He said as he turned away from them, a slight turn of his head indicating they should follow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The velvety voice grew eerie as he led them towards the roof access. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Beware The Court of Owls, that watches all the time, ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch, behind granite and lime. They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed, speak not a whispered word of them, or they'll send the Talon for your head.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Court of Owls?” Lois piped up confused, stalling at the maintenance ladder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>nursery rhyme</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Harvey protested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right. It’s not the Court.” The shadow said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See that’s...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a Parliament.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harvey and Lois paused as they took in the Gotham skyline.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A Parliament?” Harvey breathed, “You mean…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not just Gotham. It might have started here but the net is a lot further casting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And how would </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> know this?” Lois said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>They'll send the Talon for your head…</span>
  </em>
  <span> But what happens when a would-be-Talon slips their hold?” Lois could practically </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> the grin in his voice. The defiance that spat back at this Parliament.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess that they would have a renegade on their hands.” She smirked back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The terse, silent nod was all the reply she needed. This was someone that was on their side. This was someone who </span>
  <em>
    <span>needed</span>
  </em>
  <span> the shadows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lois made her decision. “I won’t mention you. We promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But Lois.” Harvey stuttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When has my gut ever failed us Harvey?” Lois shot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, never.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then you know what? Maybe I do attract do-gooders. Thanks kid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My pleasure.” Came the reply from everywhere and nowhere. There was no sign of there ever being anyone else on the roof with them. No sign of there being anyone helping them along in their escape from Reighart’s office.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To any other duo - this would have been a clear sign of a trap. But for Lois and Harvey, this was the best way to make a discrete exit. Lois tapped her watch. Minutes later, Superman appeared and whisked them away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Chamber was chaos.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The trap had not been sprung - indeed it appeared that the bait had not been taken at all. They had been so, so sure that Riordian, Dent and Lane would spring at any hint of a corruption scandal. Especially since Riordian and Dent were practically hounding the Owls for any chink in their impeccable armour.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that they knew they were after the Owls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, this was highly irregular. This, and the multiple little failings that had been ongoing this past four months built up into an </span>
  <em>
    <span>issue</span>
  </em>
  <span> they had never quite expected. Those incidents had been dismissed - there was always room and expectation for failure, but now, this was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>pattern</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes Jenson?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sir, there has been, let’s say, a development.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A development?” The white masked man reiterated as he turned to Jenson who was nervously shuffling his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sir, the Head of Surveillance asked me to tell you to have a look at this evening’s breaking news. We’ve managed to intercept the transmission, but we couldn’t prevent it from being broadcast.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Chapter Head scrambled for the remote to the television in the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This just in! Farron Reighart has been arrested for embezzlement of funds and the exposure of an underground group of policymakers seeking to</span>
  <em>
    <span> block</span>
  </em>
  <span> certain welfare and reform bills in Gotham! GCN will keep you covered as updates come in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Chamber went from chaos to stunned silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They did take the bait.” Someone muttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They took the bait, but they dodged our operatives.” Someone else added.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There wasn’t any sign…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Those were our </span>
  <em>
    <span>best…</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cacophony descended upon the Chamber as they wallowed in confusion. This made no sense to the Chapter Head. There had not been any trace of data infiltration. Nor had there been any evidence of an attempted physical break in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The men they had stationed to </span>
  <em>
    <span>coincidentally</span>
  </em>
  <span> come across Dent and Lane had claimed they had seen </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Clearly, someone somewhere had failed in their task.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two weeks. Two weeks since we baited the trap. How have we </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> known the bait had been taken, </span>
  <em>
    <span>till NOW</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Congratulations Lois, headlines again.” said a bespectacled man as he handed Lois a celebratory hot chocolate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks Clark. Couldn’t have done it without an assist from you-know-who.” She winked at him as she made a little flying gesture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Voldemort?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh you.” She nudged his shoulder hard, knowing full well it did nothing to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was sitting on the story for ten days really necessary though?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think so,” she said as she stirred the hot chocolate thoughtfully. “You know what I mean though, there’s something happening in Gotham. Something big. But we can’t touch it - not yet. I don’t even know how someone would go about deconstructing it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark Kent leaned back in his chair. “But someone is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded. “Someone is. But I don’t think an exposé on him would help him any.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brave man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook her head. “Defiant one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Labyrinth was silent -  as it should be when no infidels were being taught </span>
  <em>
    <span>lessons</span>
  </em>
  <span> within. A Talon-in-training should never be seen, or heard from after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Gray Son, their promised Talon of all Talons to lead them to greatness, even more so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Talon-apprentice!” The Chapter Head of the Labyrinth called out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no reply, as expected. She turned back to Deathstroke, “My apologies, the Labyrinth is large and..”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I remember.” Slade Wilson interrupted. “The Talon-apprentice’s progress is astounding. I don’t see why you have called me in again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Testing. We need to ensure the skills you’ve imparted haven’t faded. Besides, we’ve given you the money.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Make no mistake, if it wasn’t for your cash, I would not be here. Not again. I still remember.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They waited a bit more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Labyrinth’s Chapter Head’s iPhone buzzed with an alert. “I’m sorry Mister Wilson, I have to check this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“By all means.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She walked a ways away and looked at her phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Head of the Labyrinth’s chapter was stunned as she took in the news. Reighart’s loss was unexpected. Everything had been planned so well. It had all been set up perfectly, just waiting for their prey to take the fall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no way it could have turned out the way it did… unless…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mister Wilson,” She said, striding back to the mercenary, “would you be amenable to a slight change of contract?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know my rules.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But sir…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No buts, if I am not here to evaluate the Talon-apprentice, I shall take my leave and send a full refund back to your people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine. Thank you for your time Mister Wilson.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stared at the deadliest man in the world as he walked away from her, out of the Labyrinth, which she suspected was now completely empty save for the Talons resting in their cryogenic sleep below.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She walked calmly out of the Labyrinth, taking twists and turns as she made her way to a secret panel which various surveillance screens upon them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was the control panel of the Labyrinth. This was how they drove the infidels to the brink before they disposed of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was where they should be able to monitor the Gray Son. And they did. They saw him completing a routine like he did for the past five months. On the clock, with a little bit of variance each day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Proof the Gray Son was still with them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But now that she looked closer, the Gray Son’s condition never seemed to change. There was no wear and tear in his uniform, despite the Owls calculating that he was due another growth spurt sometime this month.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was little deviation in the food he chose day by day. It repeated, week after week, the same meals in the same order.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How could they have not noticed?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She typed out a message on the Skype group all Chapter Heads were in. Their Gray Son had slipped their reach.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ThreeBlackCats and I have to announce that now that our schedules for work seems to have gotten more consistent we shall be switching to our intended fortnightly release of the issues. This means that Centre Fight #6 will be released a fortnight (that is, for clarification's sake, 2 weeks) from now!<br/>Stay safe everyone! Wash your hands, don't touch your face and we'll be back in a fortnight!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Centre Fight: Gambit/Bind Part 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>When you're on the run, it's good to have a couple of foxholes.<br/>It helps if you personally know the fox.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Zee-Cue glanced out of the nearby fire escape, the patter of something clearly not rain tapping on the window.</p><p>Grabbing her pepper spray she turned it’s safety off as she moved to open her window.</p><p>“Johnson?</p><p> </p><p>-.-.-.-</p><p> </p><p>Dick was tired, cold and drenched.</p><p>He knew that saving Dent and Lane would have its consequences. He knew that making sure Reighart was put behind bars would possibly alert <em> them </em> that something was amiss. But the high from when he realised that, unlike everything else, that this wasn’t for nought?</p><p>That was glorious. Almost worth being ran out of his home for the last five months and change.</p><p>Some paranoid part of him had been bracing for this exact thing to occur over the last ten days. It was in his mega-sized backpack, the carefully stowed items, the root access enabled Wayne XOver in his pocket with the battery carefully removed.</p><p>The talons he had dug back out and repurposed into throwing knives.</p><p>But he could only run for so long. He was tired. And exhausted. And tired of jumping at the shadows. Peering at every technological eye for <em>signs</em>. Dick knew that he was being tracked - and that the trackers were most likely his former <em>teachers - </em>namely, Giz and Mouse.</p><p>As he stood in front of Zee-Cue, he hoped. He hoped he had read her right. He hoped that she allowed him to help her bring the kitchen scraps home that one time, (had it really only been a month? It felt longer) for a reason. </p><p> </p><p>-.-.-.-</p><p> </p><p>“Zee.. Could I crash here for a bit?”</p><p>“Of course you can you numbskull! Where were you? Your notice of resignation told us <em> nothing </em>.”</p><p>“That was kinda the point.” Dick gasped as the small asian woman crushed his frame to hers. </p><p>“Kinda the point?” Her dark eyes flashed. “Look here mister. You don’t just -”</p><p>“They would have traced me!”</p><p>“They?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>Dick shifted his feet awkwardly on the carpet of the flat she and her ‘sister’ shared as he looked around. Scattered throughout the flat were little post-its of random thoughts related to both cooking, and mechanics and stacked neatly in a corner of what was obviously their study space was a pile of ethics and law textbooks.</p><p> </p><p>“Do I want to ask what happened?”</p><p>Dick couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes, choosing instead to stare determinedly over his shoulder, into the pouring rain. The reflection was interesting though. The third floor flat was similar in style to <em> his </em> old room at the Outreach Shelter. The only difference was extra doors, presumably one to the bathroom and the others to bedrooms. A couple of moments passed before he heard her sigh.</p><p> </p><p>“Would you like to stay? Just for a bit?”</p><p>Dick felt himself nodding. He had been ducking into shadows and avoiding various cameras for nearly 48 hours. A relatively safe place to catch his breath and to go over the strange bits of information he had acquired would be welcome.</p><p> </p><p>-.-.-.-</p><p> </p><p>Jasmine ‘Moi Li’ Ling jingled the door to her flat, she huffed a little as she attempted to get the key in <em> just right </em>. As the door clicked open she called out - “Hey Zee! Remind me to send in a report to the building manager, the lock is busted again!”</p><p>“You <em> always </em> ask me to remind you! And then I do but then you forget!”</p><p>Jasmine chuckled as she shook out her raincoat before hanging it to drip dry at the door..</p><p>“Well…” She paused and stared at the boy huddled out of the way in a dim-ish corner of her home. The poor thing was caught in that awkward somewhere that most teens were. From certain angles he looked highly reminiscent of a boy-Snape. On top of that he looked practically swaddled in their fluffiest towels and ready to bolt to boot.</p><p> </p><p>“Zee, you didn’t tell us we had company…”</p><p>Her sister glanced at her from the corner of her eye.</p><p>“Jazz this is Rick Johnson.”</p><p>“From Tobias’?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“I…” Rick gulped. “I don’t mean to be trouble.”</p><p>“I offered to let him crash here for a bit.”</p><p> </p><p>Something about the skittishness of the kid broke her heart. It reminded her of Zee. It reminded her of herself.</p><p>“Stay as long as you need. You’re safe here.” She told him, careful to show that her hands and her posture were unthreatening. Relaxed. Something about him reminded her of, well, her - her and Zee really.</p><p>And that awful time they learnt their ‘parents’ had found where they had gone.</p><p>Back then it had been the little network of contacts Tobias had developed keeping her, and then Zee, safe. It was that network that sheltered them, that talked and supported them from the same skittishness (that was written into every little movement Rick Johnson had) into their current confidence.</p><p>Maybe it was time to alert the Network that another kit had to scurry away. Gotham was no stranger to cults and perhaps - Jasmine thought - this was more than just a survivor escaping a terrible situation.</p><p> </p><p>-.-.-.-</p><p> </p><p><em> Podium. 1530 hours. Mass gathering. Havok preferred. Additional bonus: Settling the matter permanently. </em>These thirteen words were all Dick managed to extract before he saw the signs of a counter hack. Before he had to disappear from the home he had built over the last couple of months. Zee-Cue and her supposed older sister, Jazz, had been extremely welcoming and accommodating - far more than he ever expected them to be.</p><p> </p><p>He learnt why soon after during a chat where Zee and Jazz sat him down with serious eyes and laid out their story in full before him.</p><p>…</p><p>“Our parents had lots of people over. Always wanted us to be part of the fun. Their fun. Not ours.”</p><p>“They didn’t give us a choice about it.”</p><p>"So I decided I had enough. I ran.”</p><p>“Jazz took a stand and refused to be a part of their fun. She gave me the courage to make my escape too."</p><p>“You might have noticed that we have different surnames? Saelim and Ling don’t exactly obviously state we’re sisters…”</p><p>“It was a…”</p><p>…</p><p>Dick pulled himself out of his reminiscing as he flipped through the newspaper that Zee and Jazz had left on the counter.</p><p> </p><p><em> Podium. 1530 hours. Mass gathering. Havok preferred. </em> That was a road map <em> somewhere </em> but where? He idled through the pages of the paper until a heading caught his eyes - upcoming events. Dick stopped - surely it couldn’t be that simple?</p><p> </p><p>What large event would have a podium for a speaker to talk on? In the case of the <em> target </em> that was a simpler matter to figure out. It was probably a Wayne. The Owls had a long history of grudge-holding against the Waynes’ general altruism. The question now was where and <em> which Wayne </em>?</p><p> </p><p>The society pages of the Gotham Times were incredibly detailed. Were they not so helpful for his research, Dick probably would have been concerned about how detailed they were. It seemed that almost every time the rich of Gotham did something mildly interesting, there was a reporter there to comment on it. Which led to the question of what they weren’t writing about since they were writing about this instead…</p><p> </p><p>The Waynes were better at keeping their private life private than some. This meant that only the times they would be at public events were really commented upon, making Dick’s job easy. In the upcoming weeks Martha Wayne was going to an opening for a gallery show in Burnside that served as a fundraiser for the Wayne Afterschool Art Programs. Thomas Wayne would be travelling to Metropolis to give a guest lecture to students at Metropolis U. Both Thomas and the youngest Wayne, Bruce Wayne, would be attending the Gotham University medical students’ graduation. Bruce was expected to give a speech.</p><p> </p><p>The guest lecture could be automatically ruled out since it was in Metropolis. The Owls could reach far but when possible, they always tried to keep it within Gotham, their home base. Especially if it was going to be a big statement. That left the gallery show in Burnside and the Med School graduation that was going to be held in an open auditorium near the central Gotham City train station. This was big so the Owls would want to create maximum impact. So the question was how many people would be in attendance at each event. Unfortunately, to do that, he was going to need to get information from someplace.</p><p>It probably would be faster to use the Wayne XOver to get the information online. But Dick had already disabled his so it couldn’t be tracked. If he used any other device, there was a chance Giz and Mouse would catch wind of that too. He had to go completely analogue. He looked around the empty apartment. The information was hardly going to turn up here. </p><p> </p><p>It didn’t matter if he didn’t want to leave the flat. If he was going to figure out what he was going to do, he had to go out - and be careful.</p><p> </p><p>-.-.-.-</p><p> </p><p>There were some brochures for various colleges and graduate programs by the tuition center. Dick could see them just outside the entrance from where he was standing in a security camera blind spot in the main lobby. It was late in the afternoon, so no classes were currently in session but there were still people hanging around, using the space available to get some work done. Dick looked around from where he was trying to tell if any of the people around were doing anything out of the usual. Then he skimmed the shadows to see if anyone was standing in them. It didn’t look like it but that didn’t mean anything. A young woman sitting at one of the nearby tables was giving him odd looks. Shoot, he had been standing here too long and now he looked suspicious. He needed to get it together.</p><p>He crossed over to the tuition center, making sure to keep his face turned away from the camera as he passed it. After a bit of digging in the display case, Dick found one for the Gotham City University Medical School. Dick stuffed the brochure in the pocket of his hoodie and started back across the lobby before hurrying back to the Saelim-Ling residence.</p><p> </p><p>-.-.-.-</p><p> </p><p>According to the brochure, the average annual intake was 150 students. If each student brought just one family member then that was at least 300 people. But it wouldn’t just be students and their families. 150 students, their families, university faculty, and special guests like the Waynes. Hundreds of people to witness a potential assassination. (It wouldn’t be an assassination. Not if he got there in time.) Since the auditorium was open air, the assassin could set up on a nearby building easily. </p><p> </p><p>Finding information about the art gallery show was harder. The newspaper had only included the name of the gallery and the date and time of the event. A look through the yellow pages only gave him their address and phone number. No information about their layout or how many people would be expected to attend. After trying to think of any other way to get the information, short of actually <em> breaking </em> into Gotham City University records for the RSVP list, Dick had to accept the risk of going back online. He needed this information in order to do anything to stop this and he wasn’t getting that information sitting around. A tingle in his gut made him pocket the piece of paper Zee gave him before the sisters left for their respective day activities. This was going to be a risk, and he would not risk the sisters any more than he already had. He quietly cleared up his belongings and left, like he was never ever there.</p><p> </p><p>He had to go back to the tuition center.</p><p> </p><p>-.-.-.-</p><p> </p><p>Hood up and head ducked, Dick ended up using one of the computers available for doing school work in the tuition center to quickly look up and print out some information about the gallery from their website. As soon as he was done, he cleared his search history and got out of there. Since it was small, the building had a maximum capacity of 250 people. They didn’t normally host events like this. Even aside from the number of people there, a quick look at the gallery’s floor plan told him that a job with the slightest possibility of climaxing in assasination, wouldn’t be happening there. Too many small rooms and no large windows. Entrances and exits to the area were minimal. How was a saboteur with a motive to ‘settle the matter permanently’ going to get in and out without alerting security?</p><p> </p><p>Dick sighed as he ducked another security camera.</p><p> </p><p>If the Owls wanted an audience they would go with the graduation. That was a week away. He’d have to head out to scout the area beforehand so he would be able to get the drop on the assassin but he could do this. He had a plan. He hoped.</p><p> </p><p>As he turned onto the road heading back to Zee-Cue’s and Jasmine’s place, he heard it. The whirr of a security camera turning away from its normal watch point.</p><p> </p><p><em> The Best Buy </em>. Dick realised in horror, recalling how he had been knocked back by a random passerby which caused his hood to flip down in front of the electronics store.</p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t go back. He couldn’t let on to Giz and Mouse that he knew they had their eyes on him. <em> They taught him too well </em>.</p><p> </p><p>He meandered out of the way through an alley and took to the rooftops.</p><p> </p><p>-.-.-.-</p><p> </p><p>Zee and Jazz returned to a perfectly clean flat, with no signs that anyone other than the two of them had ever been there.</p><p> </p><p>“He left.” Zee noted, scanning about the flat for any signs that Johnson intended on returning.</p><p>“I did tell you he might.” Jazz tossed back at her.</p><p>“You and your theories.”</p><p>“Well it’s perfectly possible that -”</p><p> </p><p>The knocks on the window leading to the fire escape of the Saelim-Ling residence were like gunshots. Just outside, on the same landing Rick Johnson once stood and asked if he could crash, were a man and a woman dressed rather <em> strangely </em>.</p><p> </p><p>The light-skinned brown haired man had telescopic goggles covering his eyes and a random assortment of <em> was that body armour? </em>clad around his chest and limbs. The woman was in something far more risque. A white cowl with an approximation of mouse ears covered most of her head and face, leaving only her mocha-toned jawline exposed. A white catsuit covered the rest of her body save for a window exposing her midriff.</p><p> </p><p>“So sorry for the intrusion ladies.” She said as a flying squirrel scurried up to sit upon her shoulder, “But I believe you know where our wayward Gray Son has gone.”</p><p> </p><p>Jazz and Zee-Cue looked at each other confused. Zee mentally sighed to herself - Jazz was never going to let the fact that her cult theory was <em> right </em> go.</p><p> </p><p>And as one, they said with an air of pure perplexation - “Who?”</p><p> </p><p>-.-.-.-</p><p> </p><p>A tapping on the window that rose to just over foot level on the street pulled Doug Brenston from his work. Eyes wide, he rushed to open the main lobby’s door for the boy clutching a piece of paper with his address on it - written in Zee-Cue Saelim’s handwriting.</p><p> </p><p>“Johnson?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Centre Fight: Gambit/Bind Part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>There are other more benevolent forces and secrets in Gotham - and Dick might have just stumbled onto one of them.<br/>Who knew the Kitchen Crew stretched so far?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Doug Brenston’s home was a cross between ‘bachelor pad’ and ‘young family trying to figure things out’. Dick vaguely remembered something about a kid and a significant other that got pregnant - which was the catalyst for him to get </span>
  <em>
    <span>out</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The touches of Doug’s girlfriend and baby were </span>
  <em>
    <span>everywhere</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was in the mish-mash of furniture - some that looked clearly handmade (Doug was finishing up a carpentry apprenticeship) and especially in the halfway done crib with a partly finished Millenium Falcon. There were boxes here and there - a vague memory of Doug celebrating in the kitchen about his down payment on one of the Outreach Housing family flats rose in Dick’s mind - and Dick realised he couldn’t stay.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. Look I’ll be out of your hair in a minute. It’s not safe for me to hang around.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Doug was not having it. Jazz had contacted him last night about a kit needing a foxhole. He just didn’t expect it to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>Johnson</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If you think you’re going to leave without me helping you out - you’ve got another thing coming, Johnson.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Johnson’s face grew incredulous at his words. But then again, Tobias never officially brought anyone without a place of their own (and still a minor for that matter) into the Network. Doug reached behind a false backing of one of the drawers he made and pulled out one of the supply packs.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s that?” Johnson asked as Doug handed it over.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Emergency kit. Thermal blanket, protein bars, fire starter, solar batteries - the works. Everything you need to run until you can find a place to hunker down.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tobias is doing a little more than making a safe place for youths to go. Now, the kit is encased by a portable tarp, fold it up tight enough and you can use it as a pack, open it up all the way, quick shelter.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Seriously Johnson - are you okay? You seem a little spazzed.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dick was more than a little spazzed. There was an element of surety about Doug, come to think about it, about Jazz and Zee-Cue too. Like they had done this before. And apparently Tobias was in </span>
  <em>
    <span>charge</span>
  </em>
  <span> of this operation.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Whatever this operation was.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course I’m confused! How are you so prepared? Why are you just </span>
  <em>
    <span>giving</span>
  </em>
  <span> me stuff? What are you even doing? I’ll be putting your kid at risk if you got found out!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So you’re telling me that Jazz’s theory was right?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And how do you know Zee’s sister anyway?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Krissy does pool with her on the weekends. But the theory?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What theory?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So Zee think’s Jazz is a bit crazy, but Jazz is pretty sure you’re a cult escapee.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dick paused. “That’s… actually not too far off.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Really?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Look, I’m not going to talk about anything more - the less you know the safer you will be. You have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>kid</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And we have our ways. You’re not the only one that needed to hide from um, let’s call them </span>
  <em>
    <span>issues</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I might have led people straight to Jazz and Zee!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And we’re prepared for that. It seems like you were too. Don’t think I didn’t notice that you’re pretty much prepared to bolt. I’m just here to remind you that you’re not alone - and you don’t have to be.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dick sighed as he clutched the supply packet within his hands. “Why are you doing this?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Because although the Waynes have done a lot to make Gotham better, they can’t do it alone. That’s why the Network slowly formed. Anyone that wants to have a new beginning, anyone that searches for safety and freedom? The fox kits that need to run from the hounds hunting them? We’ll provide the foxholes for them so they get a chance to survive. Seriously man - I’m just passing it on. Tobias did it for me, and now we’ll do it for you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Does this have a burner phone card in it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Doug raised a brow, “Yeah, why?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve… found something. Something the cult that wants me back is trying to make sure happens.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And you think you can stop it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dick glared at Doug - “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> I can.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Doug sighed inwardly. But how was he supposed to stop this fifteen-sixteen (wait, they never really got his age out of him did they) year old when he was all of nineteen himself? Gotham was getting better, but it didn’t mean that kids weren’t still growing up way too quickly. And the look in Johnson’s eye - well.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Doug remembered his gang days. The days in when he was in too deep and saw things he was pretty sure no kid was supposed to see. He had that look in that eye once - once when he came way too close to manslaughter. Just before Krissy told him about her pregnancy and told him to get out so the cycle wouldn’t continue.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But there were others that did go too far, that had that melancholy about them. Johnson had it - he hid it very well. Doug raged against the people that must have forced Johnson to do heinous acts.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay.” Doug said.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay? You’re going to let me go just like that?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. I believe you. But seriously. If you need help - head to Tobias’.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But what about Toby?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You really think Tobias doesn’t know how to make sure his little girl stays safe?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good point.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Doug smiled wistfully. “Now get. The burner has a couple of contacts in there - top of the list is Tobias’ number - bunch of other allies programmed in. You’re not alone. I’ll find a foxhole too. Make sure they can’t trace either of us.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dick bled off the energy of his plunge onto a buttress of the courtyard surrounding the green of Gotham City University. A temporary podium was being set up in preparation for the medical school graduation ceremony. And from here, he could discretely survey the potential nests of certain mercenaries of a strygian bent.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The burner Doug had given him was a blessing. Swapping the SIM cards had bought him some time from Giz and Mouse tracing him - not to mention it had given him some information about the building plans closest to the GCU green.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Gotham Central Station was a large building that once could have rivalled Grand Central Station. It was a main stop for both the trains and buses that entered and left the city. Commuters poured in and out every day at nearly every hour. Dick had already dismissed the spire atop the main transportation hub as a potential nest. None of the plans had shown a passageway up to the spire - which was a bit of a silly move in Dick’s personal opinion, how was maintenance supposed to regularly clean that thing?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But there was also the tower over the Train Hub. And that, Dick believed was a more likely nest. He could get up there quickly enough to incapacitate the Owl’s agent - make sure Doctor and Mister Wayne’s stay safe.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dick nodded to himself - he’d do what was necessary and then disappear - just like he was taught.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“UGH!” Mouse growled out in frustration as one again the little owlet evaded her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing?” Giz asked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing - and the two women we tried interrogating knew </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing </span>
  </em>
  <span>either. What a waste of time.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We… taught the Gray Son too well.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It was our job, and now we’re going to fail this job because… Giz, I don’t want to become owl food.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe… It’s time we retired?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You sure love? We still don’t have that island in the Bahamas.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Forget it - I just want us to be alive.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Centre Fight: Gambit/Bind Part 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The pieces come together and Dick thinks on his feet.<br/>For better or for worse - time will tell!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The next issue of the Renegade-Verse will be uploaded on the 28/29 of July on the Divergence mini-series!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The open air auditorium where the ceremony would be held had some security of its own, mostly cameras. This meant Dick couldn’t get too close to it, or the cameras would catch him and he would have to run again. It also would make it hard for an assassin to sneak in there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, Dick wouldn’t need to get too close. With the rifle from the message the assassin would be shooting from a distance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stuck to the edge of the sidewalk as he walked towards the train station. There wasn’t any event happening right now so there weren’t many people he could hide behind to avoid the cameras. Giz and Mouse were still out there looking for him. They probably would be for years, if they weren’t replaced by somebody else. The Owls always demanded results and they never gave up the pursuit. He would just have to learn where all the cameras in the city were.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rising over the train station was a tall decorative spire. There had been nothing on the plans to indicate that there was a way up there but Dick would rather rule it out before going on to the most likely option. The train station also had plenty of security cameras but it was easier to hide amongst the commuters who were constantly coming and going. The spire’s base was between the third and fourth platforms. It rose up, touched the edge of the roof, and went up beyond it, towering over the neighborhood. Dick did a quick circuit around its base. No entry ways for maintenance. With the number of commuters around it would be impossible to climb up the outside of the building without being noticed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The only other building tall enough to look down onto the stage was an office tower overlooking the train hub on the other side of the street. Unusually for an office building, it had a few balconies overlooking the street. It also had security cameras on the outside of the building, but like the station, the heavy foot traffic in and out allowed Dick to slip in easily. Internal security didn’t seem to be as strict as external security. He followed some business people into an elevator and went right up to the fifth floor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The balcony overlooking the auditorium was on the other side of a conference room that was currently in use. Luckily, some kind soul had posted the week’s schedule for the room on the door. It would be open during the ceremony and for two hours beforehand. Someone could walk right in with their weapon hidden in a large case. Looking up and down the hallway, Dick saw that most of the neighboring rooms were offices.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A woman turned the corner and Dick abruptly pretended to be looking at his phone instead of examining all details of the hallway. As she brushed past, Dick scrolled through the contact list on his phone - hovering momentarily on the saved contact ‘Silver’ - whom he assumed was probably Tobias.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he turned to continue meandering his way up to where he determined the probable nest was - he hit the call button. The dial tone abruptly ended as the line connected-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Silver here.” It </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tobias, his hunch was right.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Silver… its Kit.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kit - you have no idea how glad I am to hear you again.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s great hearing your voice too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kit, I know you’re in some trouble - so what I’m going to do is send you an encrypted message concerning the placement of a foxhole. You should be able to figure out the key. Please try to keep in touch alright?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright. See you soon Silver.” He hung up as he pushed open the maintenance access.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Dick perched above the balcony, he watched as the graduates’ families settled into their seats down below. The graduates themselves, recognizable by their dark robes, were taken to the side to get ready for the walk across the stage. The seats on the stage where Bruce Wayne would sit along with the faculty were still empty. He looked at his watch. Thirty minutes until the ceremony began. The assassin should be coming at any time if they wanted to be set by the time the Waynes arrived.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ten minutes passed. More students and their families arrived. A couple members of the university faculty took their seats on the stage. The assassin had apparently decided to cut it close.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five more minutes. Fifteen minutes until the ceremony began. Dick looked around at the nearby roofs and buildings. The only place a person could set up with a rifle was here or the spire. And the spire wasn’t really accessible from the ground. Where was the assassin?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ten minutes until the ceremony. A dark car pulled up on the curb and two men in suits got out. They looked around before gesturing back to the car and two more men got out. Even from a few stories up, Dick recognized them from the many pictures in the Gotham Times - Thomas and Bruce Wayne.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Flanked by the other two men, probably their bodyguards, they headed up to the stage. The bodyguards stopped at the base of the stage and the two Waynes went up and took their seats. The Waynes were here, the ceremony was starting soon... </span>
  <em>
    <span>So where was the assassin?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five minutes until the ceremony began. Aside from a couple of the students running late (who were literally running in) everyone was here. Had Dick gotten it wrong? But this was the only location that made sense with the weapon he was using. Except for the inaccessible spire. Dick glanced over at it. It wasn’t quite rush hour yet but the base was still surrounded by commuters. There was no way up it just reached from the top, brushing the roof - </span>
  <em>
    <span>wait</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On the roof. Right next to where the spire was. Just barely visible was a pile of </span>
  <em>
    <span>rope</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The rope led up the spire. The assassin hadn’t needed to climb up from the bottom because he used the roof. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dick was in the wrong spot</span>
  </em>
  <span>!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five minutes. Dick didn’t know when in the ceremony the speech was supposed to be. That would be when Bruce Wayne was the most exposed. Could he get to the spire in five minutes? Dick burst through the meeting room and down the hallway, skipped the elevator- there was no time to wait- and charged down the stairs. The door to the stairwell slammed open as Dick burst out, startling a group of business people. No he didn’t have time. It would take time to climb up first to the roof and then the rest of the spire. But he had to stop this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had to get Bruce Wayne out of there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Dick charged across the road, the hood on his hoodie was blown back by the wind. A car slammed to a stop as he darted forward, and Dick jumped over it to land on the opposite sidewalk. He charged towards the entrance. A smiling greeter turned towards him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hello! If you are here for the graduation ceremony please be quiet as you enter since- OH MY GOD.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick had gotten a pretty good idea of the layout from his view up above. There were twenty rows of seats facing the stage, one main aisle down the centre, and two side aisles. The steps up to the stage were on the right from the side aisle. Dick turned on his heel and charged down the correct aisle. Onstage, the dean was talking. Dick couldn’t hear what he was saying over the pounding of his heart in his ears. The bodyguards were no longer standing at the base of the stage. Where were they?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Dick reached the steps up to the stage the dean reached behind him to gesture to Bruce Wayne. There was a round of applause. Oh no, oh no, OH NO.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, I am honored to be here. Graduates, today marks the start of-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“GET DOWN!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>BANG</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick reached the top of the stairs and threw his body forward, catching a brief glimpse of Bruce Wayne’s shocked face as he tackled him to the ground. The gunshot registered as he and Bruce hit the floor. The pain hit him at the same time the audience’s screams did.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dick thought, as the world faded out. </span>
  <em>
    <span>At least I managed to save Bruce Wayne.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The next issue of the Renegade-Verse will be uploaded on the 28/29 of July on the Divergence mini-series!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Castling Part 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dick deals with the consequences of heroics.<br/>Bruce is concerned and confused.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter follows on from the events of Centre Fight: Gambit/Bind Part 3 and Divergence: Shots.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dick woke up in what looked like a hotel room that had been hastily converted to a hospital.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The wallpaper was light green with a simple floral pattern. The floor was covered with a slightly darker green rug. The furniture was all nice and seemed to go together as a set. Most of it had been shoved against the walls with only indents in the rug revealing where they once had been. Heavy curtains were drawn over the windows. A single lamp in the corner spilled soft light over the room. There was no sign of any personal items or decoration. Surrounding the bed Dick was currently in were an IV drip, a heart monitor, and a small side table with nothing on it. The bed was a standard hospital bed that could have been grabbed out of any major Gotham hospital.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick had no idea where he was. One of the last things he remembered was the people who had been helping him - had one of them been Thomas Wayne? - saying that they weren’t going to take him to a hospital. Then there had been a car ride. Tobias’ network couldn’t have gotten to him that quickly, and this hotel room looked much more expensive than something they would have booked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had no idea where he was or who had helped him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whoever it was had done a good job of it. It would have been hard to get hospital equipment in here. Looking down, he saw that his clothes had been taken off and someone had put him in a hospital gown. He looked under it and discovered that his wound had been treated and dressed extremely well. They didn’t seem to be around right now though.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Step one: figure out where he was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick reached over to the IV to remove before thinking better of it. Instead he grabbed the IV stand to hold himself steady as he stood up. He moved slowly, his legs shaking. As he set his feet down he realised there were a few dark spots on the floor near the hospital bed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh, that was probably his blood wasn’t it?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick limped towards the window with the IV stand. The curtains were surprisingly heavy. He had to lean against the wall by the window </span>
  <span>to pull them open</span>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t help but let out a slow whistle at the view.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was on the ground floor looking over a narrow road that seemed to turn into a driveway. The driveway/road led up to an entrance that Dick had to lean his cheek against the window to see, flanked by large pillars. Either side of the road was an open field of grass that looked more like a lawn. In the distance Dick could see high hedges. There was no sign of a parking lot.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No hotel with large numbers of people coming to visit would be without a parking lot. This wasn’t a hotel. This was the guest room of someone’s very fancy and very large house outside the city. Only a few people in Gotham had the kind of money that could buy a place like this. Most of them wouldn’t have put him up in a guest room. The alternative was-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a click as the door handle turned. Dick managed to get himself turned around in time to see a man in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. He had dark hair, blue eyes, and a furrowed brow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You absolutely should not be standing up yet,” said Bruce Wayne. “That bullet hit an artery and took out a good chunk of </span>
  <em>
    <span>muscle</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where am I?” Dick asked. He already suspected he knew the answer since apparently the Waynes had grabbed him but he wasn’t sure he believed it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re at Wayne Manor. You didn’t want us to take you to a hospital so we brought you here.” Bruce walked up to him. He offered Dick a hand. “I can help you back to the bed if you need it. Please, come sit down.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick had been managing by leaning against the wall but when he tried to push off his legs started shaking. The knuckles of his right hand were white around the IV stand so he reached out his left hand to grab Bruce’s. He started helping him to the bed when Dick realized something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I actually managed to save you. I was almost too late.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And I’m incredibly glad you did. Now you need to recover.” Bruce helped Dick climb onto the bed. “Also since you’re awake now I’m going to need to look you over to make sure everything is healing alright.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce reached for the dressing, noting that apart from the medications, it appeared perfectly dry. The skin surrounding the site of the surgical repair of the damaged femoral artery was not as ecchymosed or erthythameous as he expected. Looking up at the face of the boy he noted that there was none of the grimacing he’d normally receive from light palpation of a wound. There was minimal weeping and the biological sutures seemed to be dissolving far more rapidly than his dad’s quickest recovering patients.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In fact…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At this rate this recovery would be maybe a fortnight - maybe a week more - with some physiotherapy. Not the months he would estimate for a patient with the sort of damage he had received.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re healing...remarkably fast.” Bruce frowned. I was a bit surprised to see you up at all when I came in here, but this…” He looked up. “This isn’t normal.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick tried not to look in Bruce’s eyes. “I’m a naturally fast healer.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Supernaturally fast.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not quite that-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I saw what it looked like after you were shot. I was helping treat you right after. You should not be healing this quickly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick tried to come up with a response that would put any concerns Bruce had to rest without revealing too much but his whirling thoughts were interrupted by Bruce’s sigh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This has something to do with whomever wanted to kill me doesn’t it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not directly.” Dick looked up again. Bruce was glaring at him. Well it wasn’t quite a glare, and more of a very intense stare but with the frown and the crossed arms it came across as a glare. “I just can recover from a lot.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce sighed. “I know we just met but as one of the doctors taking care of you I need a bit more detail about your healing powers. You are recovering fast but you’ve still got a way to go. How fast is your healing compared to a regular human’s?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Faster.” Dick frowned. “I don’t actually know. I’ve never tried to compare it to someone else’s.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But if it’s your healing factor you must have some idea.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They didn’t exactly tell me what they were doing to me.” Oh, why had he gone and said that. Waking up here of all places must have thrown Dick off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What they did to you…?” Now Bruce looked concerned. He was probably wondering what the heck he had gotten involved in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright,” Dick said. “As soon as I’m healed up I can be on my way.” Bruce’s frown got even deeper. “After the way that fell apart they aren’t going to try going after you again for a while. And I’ll still be working on stopping them.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And just who are these people?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick sighed. He really was revealing a lot. He tried not to get people involved in this stuff. Last time had been that journalist but she would have kept digging no matter what. She needed to know what she was getting into. Bruce was already involved in this since the Owls had it out for the Waynes. He deserved to know too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The Court of Owls.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence descended on the room for a long moment. Bruce walked over to the chair that had been shoved into a corner and sat down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re joking.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They aren’t real.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They are.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Bruce put his face in his hands for a moment before looking up. “You’re saying the Court of Owls is real, they want me dead, and they did something to you to give you superpowers.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There is a lot more detail but that’s the basics.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce stood up. “Okay. I’m going to get my parents. Then we are going to have a long talk.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Castling Part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Honestly speaking things spoken while ill should not be taken this seriously.<br/>Alfred begs to differ.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>As Dick broke through the haze of his panic, he groaned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whatever happened to keeping this away from the Waynes? These were good people. They didn’t need to get mixed up in the same mess he was in!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So you are still feeling some tenderness then?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick met the eyes of Dr Bruce Wayne - the guy he dove in front of a bullet to save. The doctor’s eyes were questioning, almost relieved at the supposed re-establishment of ‘normal’ medical parameters.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Too bad Dick wasn’t technically normal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dr Wayne gave him a </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was eerily similar to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span> his mum would give him whenever he attempted to bluff his way through a cavity - it never worked, must be a healthcare professional thing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Describe the pain.” Bruce said flatly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And with that, Dick was - essentially - trapped. Lying to his health care provider might be an option but - </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look, the fact you’re enhanced is kind of </span>
  <em>
    <span>evident</span>
  </em>
  <span> now. It’s not crazily, unbelievably fast like supposedly that metahuman in Central City’s was - someone saw him reset a femur fracture that at the next moment was </span>
  <em>
    <span>healed - </span>
  </em>
  <span>but still. Fast.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> - He didn’t really have a choice though did he? He </span>
  <em>
    <span>blurted</span>
  </em>
  <span> out the fact the Owls were not, in fact, a folk tale or an urban legend. And he did it to their inadvertent opposition at that. Oh well. Time to attempt to roll with the punches.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick sighed, “It’s dull and aching, throbbing. Not too sharp. It hurt more when you pressed harder.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce nodded. “That sounds about right. Not quite what we expected for fresh out of the theatre, but the good news is that I can taper down that morphine drip we have you on. My dad would probably assess you more in depth later… after you tell us about -”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Three precise knocks came from the door. Dr Wayne raised a brow at Dick and told him, “That’s probably my Dad, Mr Wayne - your attending surgeon; my mum and Alfred. You okay for them to come in?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick shrugged. “I guess? I mean, best get your dad’s examination of me out of the way right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re deflecting. You certainly implied that you’d like to tell us more about this Court of Owls situation.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s hard, okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At that point Dr Wayne had already crossed the room to the door. Raising an eyebrow he opened the door, letting the other Doctor Wayne’s - Dick vaguely recalled Martha having a PhD or something along those lines? - and Alfred in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The surgeon Wayne bustled over and quietly conversed with his son. Dr Mrs Wayne gave him a weary smile and pulled over a chair to his bedside. And Alfred? (This guy had to be Alfred, Bruce didn’t look like him so it had to be Alfred.) He glanced about the room and announced.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll bring some tea… and I’ll bring you your emotional support Rocky Road ice cream Mister Wayne.” Before turning snappily on his heel out of Dick’s makeshift ward.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re a very lucky young man, you know that right?” Thomas Wayne said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How so Dr Wayne?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mr Wayne please. My son’s the physician, I’m the surgeon.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright... Mr Wayne?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mr Wayne nodded, and Dick continued, “How so?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ve had to repair your femoral artery wall and reattach the saphenous vein. And the large nerve supplying most of your leg was damaged - hence why you probably don’t feel much at all below your injury. But - we acted quickly enough that I am fairly confident you will not be developing any bleeding into the muscles surrounding the injury (we call that Compartment Syndrome); and we found that your femur hasn’t been fractured! It’s just a bit bruised. Which means I could project your recovery to normally be about 9 weeks?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mr Wayne looked into his eyes. “Then again I could say I’d expect 5 weeks now given what Bruce has told me. Something about you being enhanced?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well I know I’m not a meta.” Dick bit at him, before settling a little, “Sorry, that was rude. It’s just - this thing you’re seeing? It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>done to me</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce smiled sadly, “I did wonder about the needle tracks - your bloods and urine work shows no signs of recreational abuse so I thought...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick looked at him incredulously, “You saw the insides of my elbows and immediately leapt to </span>
  <em>
    <span>human experimentation?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce’s parents joined Dick in looking at him incredulously. Bruce blushed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I mean - it’s not outside the realm of possibility? I mean?” He shrugged helplessly. “Lois has stories?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dr Mrs Wayne rolled her eyes, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Of course, Lois has stories</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The levels of </span>
  <em>
    <span>strange</span>
  </em>
  <span> are just rising day to day. We really should have clued in when your late father talked about that green magic guy that saved him back in WW2 Thomas.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How were we supposed to know that was the prelude to a human-passing extraterrestrial stopping crime in Metropolis?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um, mum? Dad? We’re off topic.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thomas and Martha grinned at each other before Bruce continued, “So yeah - not out of the realm of possibility.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick let out a frustrated breath, “Fine. Yes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It was them. It was all them.</span>
  </em>
  <span> This is what they do. Take people and turn them into </span>
  <em>
    <span>things</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You mean the Court of Owls.” Dr Mrs Wayne said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I mean their </span>
  <em>
    <span>Talons</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At that moment Alfred strode back into the room and unceremoniously dumped a ginormous tub of Rocky Road onto Thomas’ lap.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thomas’ relief was palpable. Martha rolled her eyes at her husband as she received her tea. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank you</span>
  </em>
  <span> Alfred." She said before taking a deep swig of the warm liquid.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce took his mug of hot chocolate like a shot.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I presume by how you are reacting that the news isn't exactly the best."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martha looked at Alfred, "We just found out that a rather terrifying urban legend, is in fact, real." She took a second swig. "And that they conduct human experiments."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>I never said</span>
  </em>
  <span>!" Dick interjected.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thomas huffed and muttered, "Well, you certainly implied it."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Needle. Tracks." Bruce cut in flatly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Ah. I was wondering about those."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick paused, "Really? The marks on my arms? That's what's convinced you that I might be telling the truth?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth." Alfred said. "And given my own background, I certainly am inclined to believe that a supposed urban legend with human experimentation tendencies are real. So Mister 'Johnson'..."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick's eyes widened as Alfred sat forward. Leaning his forearms on his knees, subtly showing off the lean power in his arms. The steely glint of his stare pierced Dick where he sat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Knowledge is power. Knowledge is safety. I suggest you tell us what is going on."</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Castling Part 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Waynes (and Alfred) react to the unsettling news.<br/>Martha and Alfred make their decisions.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The Waynes filed out of their guest’s room in sombre silence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well… that was something.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce looked at his dad, quipping sarcastically “Oh, so unapologetic egomaniacs of elitism looking to subjugate everyone is merely </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> now?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Be kind to your father - I think he ate up all the ice cream in the house.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Quite right, although this might be the opportunity -”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No Alfred! No homemade ice cream! You’d take out all the sugar and make it </span>
  <em>
    <span>healthy</span>
  </em>
  <span> somehow.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Might I remind you Thomas, that you are, in fact, a surgeon.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martha and Bruce let out identical sighs at the continued battle between Thomas and Alfred. They had all come away from that Park Row Alley with their own </span>
  <em>
    <span>eccentricities</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but for the most part, they were quirks, easily controllable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thomas Gabriel Wayne? Not so much.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce’s father’s addiction to sugar had become something of a joke really. Everyone knew the surest place to find the eldest male Wayne was, well, by the dessert table. The lesser known fact was Alfred Pennyworth’s ongoing fight to keep the eldest of his charges from developing diabetes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martha helped when she could.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martha and Alfred shared a glance as he corralled Thomas towards the home gym. They would be speaking later. Thomas and Bruce may have forgotten at times that Alfred was not just their older brother-slash-uncle figure that sometimes does butler-y things, but she hadn’t. She remembered that he was very much Ex-SIS.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That sort of background was really helpful when it came to managing </span>
  <em>
    <span>crises</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Which honestly seemed to be all they collectively seemed to do - manage whatever crisis they were currently in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce led her into the kitchen and brought down some tea.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He never got anything to eat - I’ll take him a tray.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The Hot Cinnamon Spice mix is fresh.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Great…” Bruce paused. “Mum, I know Alfred dug up that OutreachID that listed him as Rick Johnson but -”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was wondering if you noticed the timelines matched up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s the boy we wanted to foster about 7 years ago, isn’t it? After the Haley’s Circus incident?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alfred and I suspected that might be the case.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And he’s been subject to </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> for 7 years! It’s amazing he’s still got some principles! Let alone the capacity to break away and try to make some sort of stand for himself outside of those Owls!”</span>
  <span></span><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh honey.” Bruce might have had a foot on her but she was still able to gather him up in her arms. “That boy is something else. Something good. Just be there for him - I don’t think Richard John Grayson has had many adults he could fully trust in years.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Richard John Grayson. I think we tried to foster him but he went missing from services before we could.” Martha mused as Alfred and her shared a pot of tea in the brightly lit conservatory.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s because services never put him into a home - remember Ms Randall?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That racist skank of an excuse of a child protection officer? Damn, I remember how </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard</span>
  </em>
  <span> it was to nail her with willful negligence and contempt of duty.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Alfred’s fingers drummed the table, “She was in charge of Dick’s case.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So when none of the mass care facilities or homes reported him missing…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It was because he never made it to a mass care facility or a home.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Juvenile Detention? Especially due to his background and mixed ethnicity?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Alfred nodded solemnly as Martha indulged herself with blue language. “And then he was probably taken by the Owls and because he was in a Detention Centre - no one bothered to get him checked out.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We need to consider all possibilities, Martha.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martha’s eyes narrowed at the man who was practically her elder brother. “I highly doubt the Owls would create such an elaborate setup in order to implant an agent into our midst.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s a possibility. Given his abilities, and what his descriptions of the capabilities of fully fledged Talons were, I do doubt that he is a plant. I don’t think they would risk a developing asset. But you do have to admit - it is a good set up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright, you bulldog - what do you think?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Obviously we’re being watched. We keep the circle small, bring in only the Fox's because we </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> they are clean. Lois and Harvey apparently know some things about the Owls and have kept their mouths shut. But the rest of Gotham high society?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We cannot trust.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes. We can’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine.” Martha’s gaze turned steely. “If he is truly a plant - what do we do?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kindness. We stay kind and good and decent but wary. Hopefully that will reach the remnants of the 9-year old your family tried to save and dissuade him from carrying out the elimination.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martha patted Alfred’s drumming hand, “You know very well that you </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> family Alfie. That green card might say you’re here for ‘butlering’ purposes but you’re no butler - you’re family!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I beg your pardon, Madam Wayne, but I did not spend 6 months in Domain Canteclaer, Belgium to not be called a butler!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But you also have that paramedic degree under your belt, and that illustrious acting career…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, yes. I served Queen and Country and they gave me the training I would require for it - including that enrolment in Domain Canteclaer.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They watched the light play across the fronds for a moment before Alfred broke the silence. “I do mean it. Kindness does a lot to loosen the loyalties of enemy agents. Especially, if their current loyalties are held by fear.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now, that is positively Machiavellian of you, Alfred.” Martha laughed, “Then, let’s assume Richard is merely a victim on the run here that stopped to do a good deed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ironically, that might make this more complicated. If he </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> currently on the run from the Owls - it might not be the best idea to gather all targets in one helpful place. His safety was in anonymity.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that got blown out of the water the minute he charged up the stage to save my son. So what if we try a different approach?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Refuge in audacity?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Cameras are </span>
  <em>
    <span>on</span>
  </em>
  <span> us all the time Alfred. Don’t lie, your income is peanuts compared to other people of your calibre.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s because I know how much our family earns - and honestly the Fox’s have more disposable income - from your own holdings I might add.” Alfred interrupted wryly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>despite that</span>
  </em>
  <span>, because we have a name - the country is </span>
  <em>
    <span>watching</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Alfred leaned back in his chair. “And if an organisation is attempting to remain secret, then they would prefer as little information about their movements to be as available as possible. Keeping your family semi-public would prevent them from acting too soon - or hopefully at all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Exactly.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another couple of quiet minutes passed before she asked, “And what about his belongings?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He had a missed call.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“From whom?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“From someone listed as Silver Fox - actually, I did pick up and I’ll have to go digging in a bit. Maybe reassure some people that we mean the boy no harm.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” Martha quirked an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We might have stumbled onto another secret society the boy is involved in. But I have a feeling this one is far more benevolent.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Castling Part 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tobias worries, the Waynes talk</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Come on, come on, kit. Please pick up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The ringing stopped. Tobias hung up before the automated message could finish telling him to leave a message after the tone. He was starting to get worried.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, he had been worried for a while. Everything about Rick Johnson’s situation was worrying. But they had been handling it. Rick was a smart kid and he trusted his network to help and look after each other.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then he hadn’t come back to one of the safe houses at night. He could have easily gotten held up, or needed to lose some kind of tail but he wasn’t back by noon the next day either. So he called the first time. No response. He still could have been trying to get out of trouble so Tobias pressed down his worries and kept going with all the tasks that needed doing to run the Center.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was now the next evening and Rick still wasn’t picking up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hoped they hadn’t lost him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The phone rang in the middle of dinner.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thomas had been carrying it in his pocket. He had put it there with the intention of giving it back to the young man (Rick Johnson according to the Wayne Foundation ID card they had found in his pocket) when he went to check on him that afternoon but a representative of Wayne Enterprises PR department had called in the middle of the day. Apparently, the many journalists who wanted a story about the shooting a few days ago were tired of waiting around and respecting their privacy after a traumatic event. The press had been hankering for a statement on the shooting. The PR department had gotten involved since. Even though none of them were actually really involved in the running of Wayne Enterprises anymore, they still were the owners of the company. So Thomas had been sucked into a long conversation about why they couldn’t just get the information from the police about what had happened, and was eventually persuaded to give a short statement saying everyone was fine and could they please be left alone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As a result, Bruce had been the one to take care of the afternoon check in on Rick and the phone hadn’t been handed over.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The topic of conversation at dinner had been going over, once again, what they knew about the apparently real urban legend of the Court of Owls. Individually each member of the family, (including Alfred) recognized that repeating this information again was, to a certain extent, part of them still processing and convincing themselves that this was all real.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They’ve been working in the shadows for decades to consolidate and maintain their power in Gotham. And they don’t care who gets in their way to do it,” Bruce muttered. He took a long sip of his soup then stared into the bowl.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Involved in human experimentation. Presumably, this has something to do with their overall power goals.” Thomas was eating slower than everyone else. His chosen spot for staring was the cabinet that displayed all the fancy dishes when they weren’t being used.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They tried to kill Bruce.” Martha’s grip on her knife hadn’t let up since the conversation had turned to the Owls. She kept glancing over at other members of the family.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They think killing Bruce will get them something they want,” Alfred said, face stoic. It was a thought they had all had but no one had voiced yet. He seemed to be the only one who was eating his soup normally, except for a slight tremor when he lifted his spoon. He usually had enough control of himself to prevent that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Bruce dropped his spoon into the soup with a splash. “If they were going after Wayne Enterprises I’d understand. It’s a large company, they’re a large company... If their goal was control of Gotham that’d be something they’d want to consider. But we’re not even that important to Wayne enterprises! I’m a </span>
  <em>
    <span>doctor</span>
  </em>
  <span>! Heck! Most of this family is made up of </span>
  <em>
    <span>health professionals</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” He threw his hands up into the air.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Killing someone is too drastic a step to have been the first plan.” Martha frowned. “We should call Lucius. We need to find out if there has been anything odd happening at the company or any attempts at sabotage.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If they truly are as extensive and powerful as they are made out to be, they’re probably involved in business all over Gotham.” Alfred mused. “I wonder if there is some way we can uncover what sort of connections they have. The majority of the police are completely corrupt but that friend of yours, Bruce, Harvey Dent. He’s a lawyer. Do you think he would be willing to help look into any suspicious connections?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Almost definitely. And he knows some police officers we could trust. The new commissioner has been cracking down on internal corruption anyway.” Bruce almost wanted to giggle inappropriately at the mental image of Sgt. Kate Riordan storming the Owls’ headquarters, guns blazing before promptly causing an explosion (or two).</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“None of that explains why they decided to get into human experimentation,” growled Thomas, hand tightening around his soup until the whites of his knuckles showed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then the phone in his pocket went off and Thomas startled, nearly dropping his spoon right into his soup (it clattered on the floor instead). The generic ringtone echoed around the dining room as the rest of the family stared at Thomas, dumbfounded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Weren’t you going to return that?” Martha asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was busy! PR called and they made it into this whole thing-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to answer it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t-” Thomas scrambled to pull the phone out of his pocket.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You should,” Alfred said. “If it’s the same person as before they won’t leave a message and that young man’s friends must want to know he’s alright.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thomas pressed the answer button. “Hello, the- uh- owner of this phone is unable to answer right now. Would you like to...leave a message?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was silence for a moment, then a deep male voice. “Who are you and what have you done to Rick?”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Castling Part 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>When you have people worried for you, it best to make sure you communicate with them.<br/>Too bad Dick sorta forgot that rule. Oh well.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Thomas’ eyes boggled at the deep, menacing tone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me, but why did you just assume we did something to Rick?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At his demand, Martha rolled her eyes and spoke, “Thomas, that was the </span>
  <em>
    <span>worst</span>
  </em>
  <span> response you could have given to someone worried about the boy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thomas sputtered as she gestured for him to hand the mobile over. An eyebrow went up as she wordlessly prompted him to do so.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He handed the mobile over, leaning over to grab a bite of the millionaire’s shortbread as he did so. He grumbled as he snuck more of the treat onto his plate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry about my husband. This is Martha Wayne.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tobias Mackeegan’s eyes widened as he hissed into the phone, “Wait. What the heck did the Kit do? Don’t tell me he was the person that took a bullet for the youngest Dr Wayne?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He heard a sigh coming from the device. “Unfortunately, he was - we are indebted to the young man. And if you’re the ones that </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt</span>
  </em>
  <span> him by threatening </span>
  <em>
    <span>my son</span>
  </em>
  <span> you’ve got another thing coming.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hurt him? He’s one of </span>
  <em>
    <span>ours</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He’s a survivor. Someone who took the leap to escape whatever bad situation he was in. My only regret is that he had to do the majority of it alone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could hear the pause in the supposed Martha Wayne’s voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then maybe we should meet.” He heard over the call, “I can assure you that he’s safe, and recovering. I won’t divulge any more because we’ve just heard about some terrible things. He’ll have his phone back soon. We’ll tell him to call you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tobias’s piercing eyes closed, as he contemplated.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick sat up in his sickbed as Bruce returned the phone to him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh crap.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce shook his head, “I think your friend just helped my dad along his path to diabetes. Never saw the millionaire’s disappear that fast before.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Millionaire’s?” Dick asked, rather puzzled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” Bruce grabbed the tupperware that lay idly by Dick’s bedside, “Sorry about that, saved you some from dinner.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He smiled as Dick looked down at the traybake, “Millionaire’s shortbread! It’s actually mum’s favourite. Dad </span>
  <em>
    <span>might </span>
  </em>
  <span>have eaten way more than he’s supposed to, but what’s new?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your dad is very addicted to sugar.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it’s been like that ever since Park Row.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They lapsed into silence. Dick slowly ate the slice as Bruce busied himself with lightly examining the various medical charts around Dick’s bedside. As Dick ate he browsed through his phone, wincing at the number of calls and messages Tobias left him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m… just gonna give my friend a call.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I think you should - he’s scary when he’s worried.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone manage to get my mum on the defensive that quick before.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick scrolled through to Tobias’s alias, hitting the call button quickly. He held up a finger as the dial tone sounded in his ear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” Came Tobias’ gruff tone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Heya Hawky.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kit? That you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zee-Cue perked up as she heard Tobias pause in his dishwashing. Rick had made contact!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Listen, I’m putting you on speaker - we’ve been worried!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Doug poked his head in from the freezer he was in. “Rick called?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tobias’ face remained placid but his green eyes smiled. “He did!” He fumbled about with his hands for a bit, and the kit’s voice came over the speaker phone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey guys.” came the sheepish sound.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zee bustled over nearer the phone, “Hey guys? Hey guys?! You go missing, and then we learn that some seriously shady costumed probable cultists are looking for you, and then Hawky had to tell us about an hour back that you </span>
  <em>
    <span>got shot</span>
  </em>
  <span> and all you have to tell us is </span>
  <em>
    <span>hey guys?!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Doug laid a gentle hand upon Zee’s shoulder as she took another breath, “What we mean to say,” he spoke, “is we could have used a heads up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tobias sighed, “Are the Wayne's treating you alright?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, yes? I’m currently trapped in a room - wait that came out wrong.” Rick said before another voice interrupted him - a voice semi-familiar to the Gotham public.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That certainly did come out wrong - you’re here for medical </span>
  <em>
    <span>treatment</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Bruce Wayne by the way.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zee and Doug stared at the phone, gobsmacked. Tobias let out a rare bark of laughter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dr Wayne, you have successfully stunned my employees.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rick’s sigh was positively palpable as he made the introductions. “Mr McKeegan, Dr Wayne. Dr Wayne, Mr McKeegan. He runs Tobias’ HangOut. We’re on speaker now by the way.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s nice to meet you Mr McKeegan, I’ve heard amazing things about your centre from my mum.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aaah, yes. I’m sorry about the manner of which I talked to your mother earlier.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No worries, we’re a family of health professionals - if we didn’t know how to deal with patients and family that react poorly due to worry, we’ll all be curled up in a ball somewhere sobbing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rick didn’t miss a beat, “Why do you say that like that is exactly what happens?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll quantify it then, we’ll all be curled up somewhere crying, all the time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tobias looked at his giggling employees, “Are you medics this morbidly cheery all the time?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, we deal with people at their, let’s say, not greatest. You’ve got to learn how to roll with the weird punches - that or have a mental breakdown and if you’re lucky, visit my mum. If not so much… Eh. Mum’s still campaigning on revamping that horrid excuse of a psychiatric treatment centre that Arkham is.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The members present in the kitchen of Tobias’ HangOut looked at each other nonplussed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Son, are you alright?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well as alright as a medic can be. I just happened to enter medical school with my trauma built in!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um Dr Wayne,” came Rick’s voice, “I think you’re making my friends </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> worried.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oops.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“To be fair,” Zee-Cue considered, “My sister is a lot like this, and she’s in </span>
  <em>
    <span>welfare</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martha held in a laugh as she eavesdropped on the conversation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hun, what’s going on?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nothing Tommy-dear, just Bruce falling into oversharing mode again and maybe unnerving lay-people about the realities of the personal lives of health professionals?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, hopefully it’s not too bad.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He just told them about our ever present urge to either curl into a ball somewhere crying or perform defenestration.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thomas Wayne dropped his head into his hands with a sigh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s true though.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t mean it should necessarily be told carte-blanche to the general public.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They looked at each other and Martha gave in, they chuckled as an awkward cough inserted itself into their little bubble of laughter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ahem. Mum, Dad - laughing at me again?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Done in there already?” Thomas asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, no. But I figured that he could use some privacy with his friends.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, the Waynes, kit? Really?” Tobias sounded like he was sure whether to be impressed or completely flabbergasted. Dick could hear the vague sound of a closing door over the phone signalling that it was just Tobias and him conversing now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know it’s hard to believe Tobias, but it’s true. By the way what’s this I heard about you threatening Mr. Wayne?” Dick said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t know who had you! I wasn’t going to let whoever had done it get away with it!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tobias…” Dick’s stomach was doing a fairly decent impression of a Gordian knot. “I appreciate the thought but if something happened and I was actually kidnapped...you don’t need to stick your neck out for me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to do anything stupid. But if something happens to you, I’m going to have to try. I can’t just stand around and do nothing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t have you getting hurt for me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then don’t get kidnapped. Or shot again.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, you really can’t. The people after me-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Woah, kit. Calm down. You don’t need to worry. I’d probably just gather all the information I could find and take it to the police. And call Dr. Wayne since I have his contact information now. He’d get the police to take your case seriously.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Dick sighed. Even just poking around to gather information on the Owls was incredibly dangerous. But Tobias’ voice had that force to it that said he was not going to take an argument on this. Dick would just have to make sure to never put him in that position. “I promise to never get kidnapped. By the way, since he’s a surgeon it’s technically </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mr.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Wayne.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Really? You learn something new everyday. And he’s taking good care of you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Dr Wayne says I’ll be ready to go soon. I’ll be back at the HangOut soon enough.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That soon? I was under the impression you got shot?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It, uh, just nicked me”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The thirty seconds of silence on the other end of the line implied that Tobias didn’t fully believe him. “Could you pass the phone back to your doctor please?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Waynes had long since wandered away from Dick’s threshold to give Dick his privacy but the door to the hallway had been left open by a crack. Most of Dick’s mobility had come back though he hadn’t made much of an effort to explore beyond the room he had been given. Thomas and Bruce were constantly stressing that he not strain himself and he didn’t think they wanted him nosing around in their business. Thankfully, Dick didn’t have to wander far to find Thomas since he and Martha were whispering with each other at the end of the hall.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me, Mr. Wayne?” The couple paused and turned to him. “Tobias wants to talk to you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thomas took the phone. “Yes? Oh yeah, he’s...healing up nicely. No, I’d keep him on light duties for a bit longer than that still.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So,” Martha smiled at Dick. He hadn’t had as much interaction with her since she wasn’t one of his doctors. “You look like you’re recovering well.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, ma’am. I'll be out of your hair in just a few days.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martha frowned. “You don’t need to rush out of here as soon as you’re healed up. We’re more than happy to give you a place to stay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry Mrs. Wayne, I can’t. I’ve already stayed here too long.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you are worried about the Owls, this place has some of the best security money can buy. We have cameras all the way up the driveway and in the gardens. No one is going to get close to this house without us knowing about it. If they are really as dangerous as you say they are, wouldn’t it make sense to stay in a place like this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The offer sounded nice. Really nice. But every security system had its gaps and Dick did not want to bet the Wayne's lives on how hard to find their gaps were.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m grateful for your offer but I’m going to have to decline. I’m not going to be on my own. I’ll be with Tobias at the HangOut.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martha sighed. “That is true, I suppose. We’ll make sure you have our contact information before you go. You can contact us for anything.” She reached out a hand and placed it on his arm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was trying to be comforting. He knew she was trying to be comforting. That didn’t stop him from tensing up when she touched him. Martha must have noticed because she took her hand away quickly but gently.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just remember that if you need anything, okay?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Castling Part 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Well, that’s definitely some of the fastest healing I’ve ever seen, though I suppose, with you it’s normal.” Bruce made one last note on the hospital chart he had made for Dick. Dick found it a bit odd that he had a hospital chart when he wasn’t in an actual hospital but he supposed Bruce and Thomas needed some way to keep track of his recovery. “I suppose you’ll be fine to leave in the morning. I’d still recommend you keep off of that leg for several more days. Would it be possible for you to come back here for a follow up check up?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Dick said. “You’ve already taken a big enough risk helping me. Besides, you’ve seen what my healing factor can do now. You don’t need to worry.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No matter how good your healing factor is, you shouldn’t put a lot of strain on something right after getting shot.” Bruce looked up and frowned. “Especially not by chasing after the people who shot you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not going to be chasing after them.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure. And you just happen to be in the right place to stop an assassination attempt by a secret group you knew about.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Just because I’ll be investigating them doesn’t mean I’ll be chasing them.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And if you find out they’re going after someone else.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was a long stretch of silence as Bruce gave him a blank stare. A part of Dick bristled at it. He was grateful for Bruce’s help and glad he was alive but Bruce had no authority to tell him what to do. And he couldn’t stand by while more people got hurt.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Someone has to stop them,” He finally said.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know,” Bruce sighed. “I just don’t think it should be you. You’re a </span>
  <em>
    <span>teenager.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He ran a hand through his hair. “But I suppose complaining about it isn’t going to change anything. You at least have Tobias and his group to help you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“They’ve been really great.” A thought suddenly occurred to Dick. “You guys didn’t tell them what I told you, right? About the Owls?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No? Why...” Bruce put down the pad he had been working on. “They’ve been helping you but not with fighting the Owls. You really are going at this alone, aren’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve told you how dangerous they are. They value their secrecy so much even knowing about them can put you at risk-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, yes. You’ve put us all in danger and you can’t keep risking us.” Bruce groaned. “There has to be something we can do. You can’t just keep going after them alone. We can get you some kind of equipment or aid. You have to at least promise us that you’ll come back to get treated if you get injured again.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m really not sure that’s a good idea.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This whole property has state of the art security around it. No one in the family would let anyone know you were here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Security can be hacked. And there is always the risk of someone seeing me arrive here. I am very good at being stealthy but there are a lot of people keeping eyes on you. You're the famous Gotham Waynes after all. If someone noticed me they’d definitely be curious enough about what a random teenager is doing here to try digging for information about me. I can’t risk that or they’ll find me. And if the Court finds me when I’m connected to you that means trouble for you too.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“There always is something, huh. I highly doubt our security could be hacked though I understand why you’re worried. Unfortunately you are right about how closely we’re watched; especially by journalists. Some of them I hesitate to even call journalists, they’re really more professional gossips. We don’t even run the company anymore. They could be going after more interesting and important stories. Lois says-” Bruce suddenly stopped and shook his head. “Sorry, I got off topic. You’re right about the risks of being seen but if we had a way for you to get in without anyone noticing…” His eyes suddenly lit up. “I know! How’d you like to get out of that bed for a while. It’s not too far a walk. With how healed you are, this shouldn’t be too strenuous.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“A walk? Where are we going?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“To the wine cellar. I’ve got to show you something.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>--</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The wine cellar was surprisingly bright. Overhead lights lit up racks of shelves, only half of which housed wine. The others appeared to used for general storage, with a wide variety of boxes balanced on them. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The main body of this manor was built in 1902, though the land has belonged to the Wayne family since the early 19th century. As you may have noticed, it was built to impress and show off the family’s wealth, so naturally, they built a large wine cellar. It was built to hold enough wine to host several large social gatherings a week.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bruce led Dick to the far wall and gestured to a set of shelves that looked exactly the same as all the others except for a small carving of a bottle in the top left corner.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course, in the 1920s, when the government brought in prohibition, they were made to pour out their, quite frankly, ridiculous collection. The cellar was converted to general storage. But Edward Wayne, a great uncle something-removed, decided to follow the example of many others and make prohibition a business opportunity. You’ve been cooped up inside since you got here so I’m not sure how much you know about where we are.” Bruce turned back to Dick.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know we’re about an hour outside the city and that the grounds are extensive.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s true. And the eastern edge of the property is at the top of some cliffs. Cliffs with a series of caves. Nothing that’s at risk of caving in, we have them checked regularly, but some of them happen to go quite near the house.” Bruce grabbed on to the edge of the shelf and started slowly dragging it out. Dick reached out to help but stopped at Bruce’s glare. “Anyway, Edward hired some people, paid them well for their silence, and began a tunnelling project.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When Bruce got the shelf pulled away it revealed a wall covered with the same off white paint the rest off the cellars walls were covered in. Only the faint outline of a door was visible. Bruce pushed against the door leaning his full weight into it but it didn’t seem to move. Dick opened his mouth to offer to help but before he could, the door started sliding open with a groan.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“There we go. Follow me.” Bruce pulled a flashlight out of his pocket and turned it on. The beam of light revealed a corridor carved out of smooth stone, wide enough for two people to walk side by side if they didn’t mind their shoulders touching. “There are three entrances to this cave: The natural one, this one going into the house, and one on the western edge of the property. Back in the day alcohol would be dropped off and picked up by various bootleggers at the western edge of the property where the entrance is hidden by a bunch of trees. Edward made most of his money renting the storage space for it. The set up still allows someone to travel on to the grounds and into the house without being seen by any of the security systems or people. Naturally, the western entrance has been bordered up and you saw that we keep the one in the house hidden.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But if you need a place to stay, a home base to fight these Owls...This will give you something that is completely hidden that almost no one knows about. You’ll be right by us in case you need our help. Or medical attention.” They stepped out of the corridor into a large open area. Any furniture or crates that used to occupy the cave had long since been removed, but the floor was mostly flat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not saying you should stay down here all the time. I know you’ve got a place to stay at the Center. But since you are so insistent on not putting anyone else in danger, I think a secure base where no one can track you makes sense.” Bruce swung his flashlight around so that Dick could take in the full size of the cave. “We can get some wires down here from the main house so you can have lights and some heating. I’ll ask Mom to help me look into it tomorrow morning. What do you think?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>If they moved some furniture down here and added a power connection to the house DIck could easily see how someone could stay down here. It could hardly be a permanent base since the Wayne property was outside the city. But if he ever needed a bolt hole of sorts, if the Owls ever caught wind of him again...Dick grinned. “It’s perfect. Thanks. I really don’t know how to repay you. Any of you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bruce shrugged. “You saved my life and are actively trying to stop a secret society from hurting people. Of course we’re going to help.” He suddenly frowned and lifted the flashlight, flicking it around the stalagmites that hung from the roof of the cave. “Don’t thank me yet. They’re all out right now since it’s nighttime but if you do decide to use this place you’re going to have to get used to the residents.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The residents?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Bats. This cave is full of bats.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Castling Part 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dick has allies, he just needs to learn that this, is in fact, a good thing.<br/>Meanwhile Montoya, Gordon and Riordan discuss the benefits and drawbacks of getting involved with a possible vigilante.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dick had Alfred drop him off in a deserted alleyway devoid of security cameras. It was only a couple of blocks away from the Center so Bruce and Thomas couldn’t get mad at him for ‘over exerting himself.’ Honestly, it was almost as if they knew he planned to take the rooftop express.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He adjusted the thigh brace as he hobbled towards a fire escape.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s not going to help you along in your healing, young and quick to bounce back or not.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick turned towards Tobias’ familiar voice. “Tobias!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Easy there now.” The tall man braced the injured young man, acting as a human crutch. “We’ve got a foxhole nearby - but no parkour for you mister.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rick sighed as weight shifted off his still healing thigh. “Thank you for all your help with everything. I’m going to have to keep my head down to avoid the people coming after me for a little while longer but if I keep my distance I don’t think they’ll come after you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you talking about those Owl guys?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I thought...You didn’t know about the Owls. Bruce said you didn’t know about the Owls.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He probably didn’t know. I’ve been speaking to Thomas, not Bruce. By the way, I looked up that thing about calling surgeons ‘Mr.’ and it’s more a British English thing than an American English thing. Where’d you learn that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh…” Alfred had called Thomas ‘Mister’ and Rick had asked. Alfred, who after living in America for however many years still spoke with a strong British accent. “A British person. I thought it was universal. But that’s not the point. How much do you know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, admittedly information on these people is… let’s say </span>
  <em>
    <span>difficult</span>
  </em>
  <span> to get a hold of. But when the Skulk has had visits by folk in weird, fetishy mice costumes - you start to want to know what you can.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rick stopped. “Mice costumes? Anything about a squirrel? Guy in red lensed goggles?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tobias looked at Rick, “That’s pretty much the description Jazz and Zee gave us, and Doug said you basically confirmed that it was a cult. Costumed cultists mean that we need to consider that conspiracies and folktales might actually be real and what’s the most prolific urban legend in Gotham? The Court of Owls - easy enough.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ve… certainly done some research.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Less research, more speculation to be honest Johnson.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>They’ve tracked you guys down</span>
  </em>
  <span>? You need to cease all contact with me - they can’t get you if -”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you’re going to say we shouldn’t help you because it’s dangerous and that I should think of lil’ Toby - don’t go there. That’s what we’ve been doing, that’s what we will do regardless. The Network has Corporal Montoya and other little connections here and there.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Someone sounds defensive.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tobias sighed. “I understand Johnson, more than you’d think. You’re caught up in something far larger than you and you’re desperately fighting for any ground you can get in a situation in which </span>
  <em>
    <span>they</span>
  </em>
  <span> are winning. What I’m telling you is that </span>
  <em>
    <span>no one</span>
  </em>
  <span> has to go at it alone. You’ve got people. The Network. The Waynes. Heck, I heard from Montoya that she heard Sergeant Riordan had a helpful ‘guardian angel’ look after her witness - I’m assuming that’s you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tobias looked at Rick, “I know you want to keep us safe, but we’ve been involved in this game far longer than you think. The Waynes, the Network, the clean police and you? We’ve all been slowly reclaiming Gotham, we just never knew who was sitting across from us on the other side of the board.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> He opened the door to the safehouse, “And thanks to you, now we do. The least we can do is make sure you can keep ahead. And before you go disappearing again, please think about the Waynes? Dr Wayne said he’s going to try to discreetly come in for a visit to check up on your progress.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rick looked at him mulishly, and sighed. “Fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Corporal Montoya flicked through her notes on the upcoming Detective exam, groaning as she pushed them aside to return to the research she was doing into the white-collar hacker duo Giz and Mouse (and whatever they were doing to sniff about the Network - heck, the knowledge that the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Court of Owls </span>
  </em>
  <span>was not just a creepy nursery rhyme was enough to permanently set her on edge).</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Rough day Corp?” Barbara Gordon smirked as she leaned against the ‘wall’ of the Corporal’s cubicle. It wasn’t as fancy as the actual room that Kate got but it was a darn sight better than the desk Babs had to share with three other greenhorns.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, revision is killing me. Also, tracking down where Giz and Mouse have gone has been - </span>
  <em>
    <span>interesting</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I think this would have been a better case to hand over to you rookies really, didn’t some of you take computer science as one of your GED subjects or something?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...Is this something to do with me being part of the robotics and programming extracurriculars or something?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> on your CV.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Babs rolled her eyes, “Well, I will be happy to help out Corp. But really I came over here because the Sergeant…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is trying to track down our resident guardian angel?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, she’s trying to assemble a team of people she thinks she can trust to maybe smudge the line a little in the interest of the better good.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s still vigilante activity rookie.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Barbara massaged the back of her neck, “Yeah, I know. But I mean - it’s been </span>
  <em>
    <span>easier</span>
  </em>
  <span> you know? Witnesses stopped vanishing. More people started trusting us. We’ve been getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>helpful</span>
  </em>
  <span> random tip offs and nicely packaged subdued petty crims…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Montoya chuckled, “Looks like Sarge really has gotten to you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Montoya! Gordon! Please come to my room now!” came Sergeant Riordan’s voice from across the room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh. Wonder what that’s about?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kate Riordan’s room was, to put it in a polite manner, organised chaos.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright girls, I think we could really start making some more waves if we can just get into darn contact with our darn guardian angel.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No offense Sarge,” Montoya cut in, “but you’re looking for a non-ferrous needle in a haystack.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And it’s not like we could get up onto the roof, slap a figure on a spotlight, shine it at the sky and hope for the best.” Barbara added, “What would we even put on it? A random winged person? Does our witnesses’ guardian angel even know that they are being called a guardian angel?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why</span>
  </em>
  <span> are they being a ‘guardian angel’ for that matter? Just because they saved a couple of our witnesses doesn’t mean that this person is on our side.” Montoya added, brow furrowing in thought. “I wanna know why they are so invested in helping. Guilty conscience? Revenge? This might be too good to be true Sarge.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which is why we need to </span>
  <em>
    <span>contact</span>
  </em>
  <span> them - whoever they are.” Kate mused staring at her cork board.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Montoya looked at Sergeant Riordan, “With all due respect Sarge, how do we know we’re not wading into unknown waters here. We haven’t even made the connections between all the random ‘presents’ we’ve been receiving. Aren’t you the least bit suspicious?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I mean,” Kate shrugged, “If someone is willing to work a little outside the law on our behalf - isn’t it better if we recruit them?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Castling Part 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter at the time of upload is unbeta-ed. A reupload of the betaed chapter will replace this one as soon as it is done.</p><p>Happy Deepavali Seeking_Xanadu!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“How are the preparations going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Almost all set - just a few more things to be put into place, and then we’re good to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The past few weeks had been a mix of unabashed terror, constant anxiety and exhausting moves.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tobias had shuffled Dick from foxhole to foxhole. Dick never stayed in the same place for more than 3 days… even though he was still regularly sneaking into the HangOut in order to ‘work’.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not that Tobias or the rest of the kitchen crew let him work much.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Still, it was nice. Knowing that there were people looking out for him. Knowing that he didn’t necessarily need to keep the truth about the Owls out there from Tobias, Zee-Cue, Doug and the Waynes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dr Bruce Wayne had a habit of showing up every few days to check up on him, make sure the leg was healing fine - that sort of thing. Nice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Strange. But nice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick sighed as he tapped out his password into his XOver, accessing the little backdoor he left for himself in the system. It really wasn’t like Giz and Mouse to leave a rival backdoor code into a system they made alone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Strange.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick browsed through the system when he spotted a curious flagged outgoing message.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh, hit on Giz and Mouse? Guess they skipped town - might need to tell the Crew that they don’t need to keep an eye out for them anymore.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Really, Dick was mildly impressed. Giz and Mouse showed no signs of wanting to leave the Owl’s employ - then again who’d want to if their base response is ‘sick an assassin on them’? Dick could appreciate the amount of planning it probably took them to put together an exit plan with the resources they had.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Especially since his exit plan was, basically, get out of the Labyrinth and then go from there. To be fair on himself - unlike Giz and Mouse he had zero contact with the world beyond that dimly lit maze of horrors.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A series of knocks rapped against the door of the small studio setup Tobias had designated as his foxhole for the night. There was a pause, then came another series of knocks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick stood and walked over to the door, tapping out a series of long and short beats. The reply came and Dick cracked open the door to reveal Bruce Wayne on the other side.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know, it still surprises me that a </span>
  <em>
    <span>doctor</span>
  </em>
  <span> would be so familiar with morse code.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You try growing up with Lois and see if military doesn’t insidiously seep into your life.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fair enough doc.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce rolled his eyes good naturedly as he stepped into the safehouse. “Tobias and my mum are meeting up, something about her wanting to help sponsor the Network.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s good I guess? I dunno. I mean - yeah I’m a </span>
  <em>
    <span>weird</span>
  </em>
  <span> case.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And given that this is Gotham, </span>
  <em>
    <span>weird</span>
  </em>
  <span> is weird.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ahem,” Dick glared at Bruce, “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that it’s rude to interrupt?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, Alfred and mum have been trying for ages now. Really, the only time I’m not abrupt is when I’m in a professional setting… which means…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh joy - you’re comfortable with a 16 year old. Sound the alarm.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce reached over and ruffled Dick’s hair. “Now son, I hope if someone does have ill intentions towards you that you will speak up to the people who need to know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Bruce, anyone tell you you can be a mother hen?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for the dinner Thomas, Martha, Alfred.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No worries, it’s our pleasure to meet you and little Toby too.” Martha smiled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Alfred gave Thomas a significant look.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right!” Thomas stood from his place. “With your permission Tobias, I would like to show Toby here our music room. I understand your girl is an artist in the making!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tobias nodded, “Sure. I know your wife has a couple more things to discuss with me that might be a bore for little ears.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tobias I’m not that little! I’m 8!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tobias’ eyes did his little eye smile, “So, you don’t want to go to the music room and instead you want to stay here and listen to me talk funding with Mrs Wayne?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Music room!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tobias tilted his head, hawk-like, at Thomas Wayne. “Then go on, skedaddle.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Giggling, Toby and Thomas left the room. Tobias watched as shutters seemed to fall down across Alfred’s face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, your little one is in good hands.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So,” Martha said, “About the Owls.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, you mentioned in an earlier phone call that the preparations were nearly done?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nearly.” She sighed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Honestly Mr McKeegan,” Alfred interjected, “it might be best for the Kit to take refuge in audacity.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Put him out there in the open huh? What about those Owls then - wouldn’t knowing where he is at all times make him a visible target? And your son has just survived an </span>
  <em>
    <span>assassination</span>
  </em>
  <span> attempt. Isn’t it counterintuitive?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“True it might be,” he replied. “But the point is to </span>
  <em>
    <span>get</span>
  </em>
  <span> him into the public eye. The more people watching - the less likely they are to snatch him. Between us we have managed to glean that despite all their nonsensical braying about being the true ‘rulers’ of society and the economy, they’d much prefer to operate in shadows.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martha picked up Alfred’s thread, “Hence why we think maybe it’s time we revisit that thing we were going to do those five-to-six years ago. Foster him, with us.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You were what?” Tobias eyes widened.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We were going to offer to foster him back then, filled in the forms to apply to be a foster parent and everything. But by the time everything got approved, he had, just gone </span>
  <em>
    <span>missing</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Martha scowled, “And that was basically how we found out about that </span>
  <em>
    <span>racket</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh I heard about that social worker scandal - good job on that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martha snarled, “She was </span>
  <em>
    <span>infuriating</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The system failed so badly. Too many lost boys. Too many lost lives.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They sat in silence. “Who else were you four thinking of bringing in on the ‘it’s us versus the Owls’ situation?” Tobias finally said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lucius Fox. He has a son who’s about our boy’s age. We can vouch for him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You mean your CEO?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, yes?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Castling Completed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Help is offered. History is explored. Sometimes the hardest thing to do is take that leap of faith and come home.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Dick was done with his afternoon shift in the kitchen he headed to one of the small rooms that was used for private tutoring sessions. He had been a bit surprised that Bruce and Martha had asked to meet with him there instead of just dropping in on him in his room like they had done when they needed to check in before. Well, it had mostly been Bruce. Maybe Martha thought it would be more polite to make a formal appointment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martha looked like she had come straight from work. She was wearing a neat blue blouse and had a folder of papers placed in front of her. Bruce was wearing what Dick had learned to recognize as his casual clothes, which basically was a t-shirt over scrub trousers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dick!” Bruce called out as soon as the door was closed. “You haven’t tried to do anything crazy since I last saw you, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not yet.” Dick grinned at Bruce as he pulled out the chair on the other side of the table to sit down. It occurred to him that this set-up was almost like an interview. “It might be time soon though.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce frowned. “Have they started causing trouble again?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not for me. Those hackers they had tracking me down apparently left town. They don’t really tolerate people leaving so now they’re trying to go after them.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s not good…” Bruce reached out as if to pat Dick on the shoulder or ruffle his hair like he tended to do over the past few visits. And stopped, like he was suddenly unsure of himself. Which was a pity. But Dick caught himself and shook his head slightly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No but they’re good at what they do and they’ve already made it out of Gotham. They’ll be able to hide for a while. What this means is that the Owls currently aren’t focusing on finding me which gives me space to act.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you seriously planning to go back out there, again? You’ve just finished healing up!” Bruce leaned forward, looking alarmed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Someone needs to do something and now, while they’re distracted, is the perfect time to do it!” Dick’s voice grew more pressured as he laid out his reasons. It was nice of Bruce to care, but did he </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to care so much?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dick,” Martha said calmly. “I understand you aren’t going to back down from this but we want you to be safe while you do it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know. And thank you both, again, for what you’re setting up in the cave. It’s going to be really helpful when they come after me again.” It was a matter of if not when and DIck knew it, though he noticed that Bruce and Martha both frowned at that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We actually have a plan that should help stop them from being able to come after you again.” Martha flipped open her folder. “The Owls get away with what they do because they operate in the shadows and nobody knows about them, correct?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes. And they have a vast amount of resources to continue funding their operations.” They had been over this before and Dick wondered why Martha was bringing it up again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So if we don’t want them to get involved in something it needs to be public. Something people will notice.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It won’t completely stop them but it would be a strong deterrent.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And even if they are distracted right now, how high of a priority would you be to them?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not high right now but...probably pretty high when they have the time to focus on me.” They had been pretty dedicated to the whole idea of their Grey Son, their perfect talon. They were going to want him back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martha nodded. “So we have a plan. If you are more publicly visible it will be harder for the Owls to come after you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How is that a good plan? That would also allow them to know where I am. Even if I suddenly become famous no one in Gotham is going to care about me enough to raise a fuss if I go missing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We would.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re just one family.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“One family with a great deal of influence in the city. We always try to use that power for good and raising a fuss if something happens to a close friend of ours is a good cause.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even more so for a member of our family,” Bruce added.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick frowned. “Your family?” What was going on here?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Martha sighed. “I was working towards that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why would I be a part of your family?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s simple,” Bruce said. “I want to adopt you. If you’re willing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce grimaced as if that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> what he meant to say, at least not yet. He seemed halfway surprised that something even came out of his mouth - let alone the rather sensitive topic they were about to bring up. That he had agreed to let his mum take the lead on for that matter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As I was explaining,” Martha flipped open her folder, shooting her sheepish son a glance, “We think it would be beneficial for your protection to have you publicly connected to the Wayne family. Also, we like you and enjoy having you around.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No.” Dick stood up, in the process shoving his chair back hard enough that it banged into the wall. He glared at them in his best approximation of Tobias’ piercing stare. “That is a terrible idea. They nearly </span>
  <em>
    <span>killed</span>
  </em>
  <span> Bruce, this is just giving them more reasons for them to go after you guys. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“From your own analysis of the situation, and considering your past experience with them I’d say you’re an expert on them, you currently aren’t their highest priority. And since they just messed up their attempt on Bruce they probably aren’t going to want to try anything else very public so soon if they want to remain under the radar.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The GCPD hasn’t gotten any leads on the case and probably would have dismissed it as unsolvable by now if it weren’t against someone as high profile as Bruce. You’d get the same kind of consideration from the authorities if the worst happened. And those are just the practical considerations.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anyway,” Martha pulled out a case file from her dosset. “I’d say this is a pretty good way to get you back into the public eye. Maybe it’s time for Richard John Grayson to come home.” The picture of his 10-year-old self stared up at him, world-worn and weary. He remembered this picture being taken mere hours after his parents fell. He tensed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How do you know my full name? Where did you get that?” All of Dick’s instincts told him to run the moment he heard the name Grayson. And for them to have gotten this kind of information...what had they been digging into?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because once, many years ago, we were looking to foster a child.” Martha had projected an air of professionalism throughout their meeting but now her shoulders slumped. “We were there, that night, at the circus I mean. When your parents fell, we…” She paused.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I guess what we’re trying to say is that we looked at you and saw a world where that was, well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>me.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Bruce continued. “And that was a different situation. I would have still have had Alfred.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait, you looked into me...back then?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes. We had almost got all the paperwork together when you went missing. Suddenly you were gone and no one would tell us what had happened. It would have been one thing if you had been released to a relative or moved to a different foster family but the way everyone else in CPS was dodging questions about you... We realised that something else was going on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martha breathed, collecting herself before plunging onwards.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Obviously, we looked into it. Eventually we traced everything back to one woman, Margine Randall, the social worker in charge of your case. It wasn’t the first time she had completely misplaced a child but it was the first time someone had been looking into fostering a child while she continued making rather… questionable decisions. We made sure she got thoroughly investigated by the New Jersey Child Protective Services and she no longer has a job.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not to mention several years of sentencing for what she has done.” Bruce interjected grimly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Missing person cases were opened for you and the other missing children but nothing ever came up. Until you saved Bruce.” Martha said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick’s mind was reeling. He didn’t really remember Randall. Just a vague impression of a cold distant woman and running away, trying to orient himself in a large strange city. But it was overshadowed by his memories of the horrors of his early days in the Labyrinth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At the time he had felt like he was alone in the world. His parents were dead, he had been taken away from his family in the circus. No one ever seemed to speak to him, just over him. But all that time there was a family who was trying to look out for him. Who wanted him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And here they were, far too late. Dick sat back down and breathed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So how would this work? Dick Grayson reappears? And suddenly all’s happy fun times? I don’t think that’ll work.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Which is why we’re going to stick as close as possible to the truth. You escaped a cult, who kidnapped you after you ran away from your mistreatment under Ms. Randall.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“None of this negates the danger of the Owls coming after me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ve been over that, Dick. The risk is probably less now than it would be otherwise. And…” Martha lowered her voice, “Alfred said this would be for the best.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We aren’t going to make you decide now,” Bruce said. “But it is an option. You know what we want, to keep you safe and to hopefully give you a home. The rest is up to you and what you want.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll think about it,” Dick said. Deep down though, he already knew what he wanted. He wanted to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>safe</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He wanted to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>home</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But home disappeared alongside the crack of his parents’ skulls against the sawdusted ground.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But now another home was being offered. And it came with a logical explanation as to why Dick Grayson could come </span>
  <em>
    <span>home</span>
  </em>
  <span>, from apparently, Alfred Pennyworth. Dick had the feeling, back then when he was in the Wayne’s home, that Alfred </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> had something more to him. Something beyond the acting career and the graduation certificate from </span>
  <em>
    <span>butler school</span>
  </em>
  <span> of all things.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not saying yes. But I will consider it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s alright,” Martha said. She pushed one of her sheets of paper across the table to Dick. “We’ve already finished most of the paperwork so we can leave this with you. If you decide you want to come with us you can just finish your section of the form then come home.” Martha stood up. “We’ve also just finished the final touches on the cave so we hope you’ll come check that out soon.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Martha left the room Bruce got up to follow her but paused to rest a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “Even if you decide you don’t want to be part of the family you will always be our close friend and welcome at our house.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick sat at the table for ten minutes, staring at the paper after the Waynes left. Then, decision made, he snatched up the paper and went to ask Tobias for a pen.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Orientating the Board: Preparation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Lois is stuck doing a fluff piece. Thanks Bruce. But if she's going down - Clark is going down with her.<br/>And Perry White and the rest of the Daily Planet continue to suffer.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lois uncrossed her legs.</p><p> </p><p>“You want me to do a <em> fluff </em> piece Bruce?”</p><p> </p><p>The voice of her pseudo-cousin came over the prototype Wayne XOver Lite, “Well, it’s not exactly a fluff piece?”</p><p> </p><p>She sighed, “You’re asking me to do a society piece on the adoption of some random orphan boy into the Gotham Waynes. How is that not a fluff piece?”</p><p> </p><p>“Um…”</p><p> </p><p>Lois raised an eyebrow, confident that Bruce could <em> feel </em> the sceptical disbelief her expression implied, despite having no visual contact. Uncle Thomas had once told her that she must have gotten the gesture from either Martha or Alfred.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay. You know how I ended up in that situation back in March?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh yes. We’re calling your attempted assasination a <em> situation </em> now are we?”</p><p> </p><p>“Look, the guy I’m adopting? Um…”</p><p> </p><p>Lois drumming fingers stilled. “Oh no.”</p><p> </p><p>“So…”</p><p> </p><p>“No Bruce. Tell me you didn’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“You see…”</p><p> </p><p>“Bruce, <em> you decided to adopt your rescuer? </em> Hang on. <em> The guy who dived in front of a bullet for you is a minor? </em>”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, you just told me <em> not </em> to tell you so.”</p><p> </p><p>Lois groaned and rubbed the bridge of her nose. A gentle hand rested on her shoulder as the scent of hot chocolate wafted up into her nostrils. She turned to Clark and mouthed a thank you as he settled at the desk across from her.</p><p> </p><p>‘Your cousin?’ He mouthed at her. She grimaced as she nodded at him, before turning her attention back to the phone conversation.</p><p> </p><p>Apparently, he had not stopped rambling. “...and really, the best place for him to be while on the run from a super hush, hush secretive megalomaniacal cult would be in the direct spotlight right? Where everyone and their granduncle Steve can keep an eye on us and him.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hang on. Backtrack. Super hush, hush secretive megalomaniacal cult? Bruce - are you talking about...” She searched for a term to use that would sound strange - but not flagworthy. “Our Athenian friends?”</p><p> </p><p>“Athenian?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah Athenians, all crazy. Had a bit of an owl obsession because her divine animal was one of those pesky birds.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh! OH! Those Athenian friends! Yeah! They’re a doozy. Um. So, will you do it?”</p><p> </p><p>Lois huffed before asking, “Mind if I bring a friend?”</p><p> </p><p>“Um what?”</p><p> </p><p>“Look, if it’s going to be a fluff piece, I’m not going to do the fluff piece alone - and besides, he can double as our photographer.”</p><p> </p><p>Clark looked at her, eyes wide, mouthing ‘no’ over and over again. She sent a wry smirk his way before saying “Yeah, the guy I’ve been telling you about? Clark Kent?”</p><p> </p><p>She hung on for a second, “You know, the guy I call Smallville?”</p><p> </p><p>Clark dropped his face into his palms.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay then. I’ll ask the boss for a week, we’ll come down.”</p><p> </p><p>Lois set the smartphone down and rolled her eyes. Clark peeked out from the cradle of his hands.</p><p> </p><p>“Did you <em> have </em> to drag me into this?”</p><p> </p><p>“What Big Blue can’t handle a society piece?” She threw at him with a grin.</p><p> </p><p>Clark leaned back in his chair, “Big Blue isn’t the journalist - Clark Kent, unappreciated investigative journalist partner to one, <em> one </em> , Lois Lane <em> is </em>.” He looked at her sternly through his glasses, “And he did not expect to be shanghaied into helping out with announcing the appearance of ‘Gotham Waynes’ New Heir!’, boohoo for all hopefuls looking to snag the good doc.”</p><p> </p><p>Lois leaned over and playfully grabbed his spectacles off his face, “Remember that piece on Reighart?”</p><p> </p><p>“Mhm?”</p><p> </p><p>“Cousin dearest mentioned that the new heir needs to be high profile because… cult?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re saying this guy was the one who helped you out.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, I don’t think so? I mean, I don’t know. I knew the guy was young - but you can’t really tell exactly how young just from the voice. He was about my height - but that doesn’t tell me anything. And I mean, we both know how helpful confidence -” She paused, reaching over and gently pushing his shoulders back till Clark couldn’t be mistaken for anything but Krypton’s last son, “-and posture can be as a mask.”</p><p> </p><p>Clark immediately sprawled back into his comfortable, compacting slouch. All resemblance hidden as coincidence as he plucked the glasses from Lois’s hand and settled them back on his face.</p><p> </p><p>“Point.”</p><p> </p><p>Lois nestled into her chair as she took a long drink of the hot chocolate. “Still,” she mused, “what are the odds our new Wayne heir is the guy I ran into?”</p><p> </p><p>“Honestly?” Clark shrugged, “Pretty darn low - I don’t really see the point of pushing to figure out the identity of our mystery Good Samaritan. Besides - didn’t you tell me he told you it’s probably not the time?”</p><p> </p><p>“True.”</p><p> </p><p>“Also, Lois. How much evidence do you actually have about our feathery folk?”</p><p> </p><p>She glared at Clark, “I know, I know. You don’t need to tell me ‘how to journalist good’ Smallville.” She let a pen sail across the room. Clark didn’t even bother to snatch it out of the air, pretending to wince as it hit his sternum lightly. Lois recrossed her legs, idly kicking off her pumps. She raised a finger.</p><p> </p><p>“We know they believe they control Gotham - and a variety of other cities on a global scale.”</p><p> </p><p>A second finger raised, “We know Reighart was one of them and was on the Gotham Political circuit helping to embezzle funds.” She raised a third finger, “We know Talons are real.”</p><p> </p><p>“You never actually told me <em> what </em> a Talon is.”</p><p> </p><p>Lois hummed thoughtfully to herself, “Well, as far as Harvey told me - Talons are the assassins that operate for our Athenian friends. He told me that according to the legend, they’re a relentless force that cannot be killed. That they always get their target and that they’re impossible to detect. They’re... “ She trailed off.</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, it’s just something our Good Samaritan asked us. ‘What happens if a would-be Talon slips their hold’?”</p><p> </p><p>“So there’s a loose cannon running about Gotham?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, it’s the ‘would-be’ part that got me.”</p><p> </p><p>Clark’s eyes widened, “Would-be implies a <em> process </em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Human <em> experimentation </em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Lois and Clark stared at each other for a bit, before finally Clark attempted to break the tension with a joke. “Think dearest Lexy lifted some techniques from them?”</p><p> </p><p>“That sure would be convenient, wouldn’t it?” She leaned forward, “But not quite his style - he wants to rule supremely. They have a <em> parliament </em>. Weirdly democratic for a megalomanical force.”</p><p> </p><p>“More oligarchic really than democratic from what little you’ve told me.”</p><p> </p><p>Lois rolled her eyes at the comment as she stood and walked over to Clark’s side of the desk. Gathering up his empty mug she flicked the used teabag into his rubbish bin and transferred it into the hand holding her own finished drink.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I hope your photography skills aren’t too rusty.” She called out as she walked over to the pantry. “Because Perry owes me for the last fluff piece I did. Come to think of it…” She smirked as she paused at the threshold of the pantry, “Didn’t you drag me into that silly dog show?”</p><p> </p><p>Clark chuckled helplessly to himself - he knew, powers or not, that little mistake had just come back to bite him on his arse.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Orientating the Board: Postponement</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Even when you plan ahead, sometimes life throws you a wrinkle to deal with.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Lois could not believe Bruce had done this to her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, fine she had been looking for an excuse to get back to Gotham anyway, in that sense it was convenient but-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wanted her to write a society fluff piece. About him. And the son he was apparently adopting, with virtually no warning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were several things that were frustrating about the situation. First, Lois Lane did not write fluff pieces if she could avoid it. They were, essentially, candy floss that anyone could write. Lois felt her talents were most needed elsewhere, writing </span>
  <em>
    <span>actual</span>
  </em>
  <span> news. News that could change peoples’ lives. Second, Bruce was her brother in all but blood. The Wayne and Lane families had been friends for years and they had grown up together. She didn’t think she was capable of writing an unbiased article about him. Lastly, Bruce had given no indication that he was at all interested in adopting a kid, until now. As his sister in all but blood Lois felt that she should have been informed that he was considering this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The good news was she had been able to drag Clark into this with her. He was sitting next to her in the passenger seat going over what little they knew about this Richard Grayson kid they were about to meet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clark, who was pouting. Because the traffic between Metropolis and Gotham certainly hadn’t gotten any better and they were essentially trapped in it. He winced at the sound of a horn and she grimaced in sympathy. Super senses had to suck when you were travelling incognito. But Bruce didn’t know the secret so they had to arrive by car like a pair of normal people.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anyway,” Clark continued once he had recovered. “After that no one had heard from Richard Grayson until Bruce Wayne’s surprise announcement. He was missing for around five, six years in total.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Question number one is where was he during those years,” Lois sighed. “Though I suspect he got away and ran off to rejoin his circus. After his experience in Gotham I wouldn’t blame them for not turning him back into social services.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That doesn’t explain why he has reappeared now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“True. Bruce better have some answers. That and how Richard Grayson is mixed up with the Owls.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They pulled off the crowded highway and on to the much quieter roads of suburban Gotham. The tension left Clark’s shoulders in a slump as they left the honking of horns behind them. Eventually the houses got larger and more spread out before they drove through a small cluster of trees. When they came out the other side, a large white three-storey house was visible on top of a hill surrounded by hedges and gardens. It struck an imposing silhouette against the clear blue sky, towering over the open fields around it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s it, Wayne Manor.” Lois turned to Clark. “Remember, you’re here to keep me from being biased. It may be a fluff piece but we are going to try and take it seriously.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Really,” Clark arched an eyebrow. “I thought I was here to help you break into buildings after we were done here to look for evidence of a mysterious bird organization controlling things from the shadows so you had more sources than the word of a vigilante you met in a building you weren’t supposed to be in.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Clark!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I’m also here to keep you unbiased.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They pulled up in front of the massive house which managed to look even more impressive up close than it had from the distance. As he leaned back in his seat, Clark took a moment to admire the view just past the cast iron gates. Namely, the stately wooden double doors and the columns going around the edge of the house. Lois was completely unbothered by the splendor. She walked right up to the gates and rang the doorbell.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You ready, kiddo?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ready to basically scream at the world, ‘Yo! I’m here! Come and get me!’?” Dick rolled his eyes at Bruce, “Yeah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> ready.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce reached over to ruffle his hair, “Cheeky.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick grinned at him as Bruce opened the door and strode out into the driveway where a blue Smart EQ stopped. The driver’s door opened, revealing a violet-eyed woman. Dick recognised her - Ms L. Lane, also known as the person he semi-rescued so she could go write an article to take out some Owls.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is this the kid?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On the passenger side, Dick watched as something right out of his past occured. An absolutely ginormous man, 6 foot 2 at minimum, unfolded himself out of the miniscule car. The car swayed slightly as it righted its equilibrium.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know, when you said you were bringing Smallville along, I didn’t think you were bringing all of Smallville along.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lois, your ‘cousin’ is kind of a prick.” Clark shot back as he grinned at Bruce. “Clark Kent.” He introduced himself as he shook Bruce’s hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bruce Wayne. And this is…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Richard Wayne.” Dick said as he joined in the introduction. He watched as his new dad and the male reporter seemed to size each other up before, suddenly,</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Were you at GC3? Final Doom Capture the Flag Nerf Battle?” Clark asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce’s eyes widened, “Oh my g-d. Rally the troops Clark.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Grey Ghost Bruce!” The two men, to both Lois’ and Dick’s surprise, hugged.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lois and Dick looked at each other confused.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What just happened?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ve met!” Clark laughed. “Gotham City Comic Con, 1995. I think I got a byline from you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, we ended up on the same team for Capture the Flag. The assigned team captain was - crap. Clark here ended up rallying the team and leading us to victory.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“With a strategy that Bruce developed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lois groaned. “I’m going to regret letting the two of you meet again, aren’t I?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What? Noooo…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I swear we’ll be good cuz.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lois sighed and turned to Dick. “Sorry, I’m Lois Lane. Your new dad over there called me in to write something about you joining the family.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nice to meet you, ma’am.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Polite young man, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I try.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick and Lois glanced at Clark and Bruce, who had clearly lost interest in the task at hand in favour of catching up. “Well,” she said, “I guess they’re going to be useless until they get to establish that interrupted bromance of theirs.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think Alfred said something about you being family so you’d know where the dining nook is?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He made lemon drizzles?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yup?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, let’s go. While they attempt to fit in 13 years worth of friendship into however long they’d take, we’re going to relax and keep Uncle Thomas away from my sweets.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Orientating the Board: Delivery</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The best way to lie, is to tell the truth - from a certain perspective.<br/>Dick's telling the truth from a certain perspective, doesn't mean he doesn't still need to process the truth.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>A few minutes after the chatter between Bruce and Clark </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span> slowed to a close, everyone settled down in one of the manor’s smaller living rooms. Dick and Bruce sat on one couch, while Clark and Lois sat on the other. Lemon drizzles sat on a low table between them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright.” Lois pulled out a small notebook. “Let’s get the most basic question out of the way: why?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why what? Why am I choosing to adopt Richard?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright, why are you choosing to adopt Dick? But also why are you choosing to adopt, period. You never mentioned this was something you were interested in.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, but mom and dad did. Don’t you remember?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That was years ago and I thought, wait-” Lois turned to Clark. “Do you have the notes on the foster care investigation?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes? Why?” Clark quickly flipped through his notes. “Oh! They were the family that was considering- Wait, I have a new question. Why you, when the original plan was for your parents to adopt him?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When we found him again I was the one who got to know him first so it made sense. Besides, I am an adult now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Found him again?” Lois asked. “How?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce looks over at Dick, who had been sitting quietly the entire time. He had looked Lois and Clark over when they sat down though his eyes kept flicking back to Lois. “Do you want to answer this one, chum?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Chum? Bruce was definitely embracing fatherhood already.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick sucked in a deep breath before he answered the question. “I was the one who saved Bruce from getting shot.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bruce!” Lois flung her hands in the air. “What the heck!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Someone had to do something!” Dick protested. Which was not the point. The point was that Lois’s cousin had gotten into a really absurd situation. If she thought about it, it did make sense that if any teenager was going to save someone from an assassination attempt it would be this one. Actually, wait-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t you get shot?” Lois turned to Dick. “Are you alright?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine. Bruce patched me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>Lois turned to Clark to check to make sure she was not the only one finding this situation slightly absurd but he was still looking at Dick. Dick watched as Clark seemed to give Lois a subtle shake of his head. How </span><em><span>was</span></em><span> he able to confirm the healing?</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span> <span>Dick ducked his head at the scrutiny, “It was a light graze anyway, according to Mr Thomas. Grandpa I mean.”</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce grinned, “Dad did say you can continue calling him Mr Thomas if that makes you more comfortable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lois didn’t let the heartwarming scene distract her. If Dick was diving in front of bullets intended for Bruce that meant; one, this was probably connected to that bird group he claimed was secretly controlling Gotham and two, the aforementioned bird group wanted Bruce dead. Nothing about that was good. Neither Bruce nor Dick had mentioned anything about that but they needed to talk about this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She put her notebook down on the table. “Okay, we’re going to go off the record for a bit here because I need to know: Does this have anything to do with anything else mysterious that might be going on in Gotham?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Something else going on in Gotham,” Dick frowned. “That sounds absolutely ridiculous.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe not. The Waynes are public figures.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lois,” Bruce interrupted. “You don’t have to be an investigative reporter about everything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright, for once there isn’t any great conspiracy.” That anyone here wanted to tell her about, at least. She and Clark could still continue their investigation later. “I’m not going to make you two go over that whole incident. So my next question</span>
</p><p>
  <span> is, if you don’t mind me asking, Dick, where have you been these past several years?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick’s eyes flicked back and forth. “I’ve...been on the run mostly. After…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“After what?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>“I escaped from them.” Dick whispered.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span> <span>You don’t need to go there, chum.” Bruce said softly.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span> <span>“But I do! There are other people trapped in there. Maybe if my story gets out, then it’ll be easier for them to get out.” Dick turned to face Lois, “When I was ten, I ran from the detention centre. Bruce told me that what was done to me by the CPS, by </span><em><span>that woman</span></em><span> specifically, wasn’t right and that the investigation was… I don’t know, it took a long time.”</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It did.” Bruce added sadly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When I ran from the Centre, I thought I would spend some days on the streets. Figure out where Haly’s went and go </span>
  <em>
    <span>home</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Instead, these people snatched me off the streets. Brought me underground and…” Dick let himself get overwhelmed by emotion and ‘broke’.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clark, who had mostly been quiet until this point reached out a hand to try and comfort him at the exact same moment Bruce did. Dick leaned into Bruce for comfort, though, he did give Clark a small nod of acknowledgement.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think they must have been a cult,” Dick said. “I’d rather not talk a lot about what happened, I didn’t see the sun in years. There was this… thing. Beneath the city. It got you so lost, you couldn’t tell what way was up and down. I met other people going around in circles till we got delirious. And then, when you were about to </span>
  <em>
    <span>break</span>
  </em>
  <span> they’d give you a kindness.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why do you think they must’ve been a cult?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They were a very insular group that didn’t like it when people even considered leaving. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But you got out.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I did. I think I just got lucky. There was a passageway that… I don’t know, it led outside.” Bruce was rubbing his hand in circles on Dick’s back to support him. Dick took a deep breath before continuing. “I had a chance and I took it. I want to get my story out there, so that other people know that they’re out there. And know to be careful.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you have any advice for people trying to stay safe from them?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t go out alone, especially at night. If you have to, make sure someone knows where you are. I...I don’t actually know. I was a kid when they grabbed me. I just think it’s important that people are aware. That they </span>
  <em>
    <span>know.</span>
  </em>
  <span> And that it’s possible to </span>
  <em>
    <span>get away</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I’m sixteen, going on seventeen and I got away. If you’re out there, and you’re stuck, you can too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think that’s enough for today.” Lois tucked her pen back into her pocket and closed her notebook. “I’ve got enough for my article and I’ll definitely be able to warn people about this ‘cult.’” She grabbed one more of the lemon drizzles and smiled at Dick. “I’m sorry our first meeting had to be all business like this. I’m looking forward to getting to know you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clark quickly wrote something down on a blank page of his notebook before tearing the page out. He dropped on the table. “So you can contact me again, Bruce.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two reporters said their brief goodbyes to the older Waynes and Alfred. They turned down the offer of a couple of the guest bedrooms since they had gotten a room in a hotel closer to the center of the city.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So,” Clark said when they got back into the car. “I think that was more than either of us was expecting.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Lois said. “And </span>
  <em>
    <span>thank you</span>
  </em>
  <span> for the assist in there.” Her sarcasm was palpable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey! You were doing just fine on your own.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Orientating the Board: A New Front Part 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>When a situation quiets down, it might just be the creation of a vacuum.<br/>And vacuums of power need to be filled...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Life happened to be going pretty well for Carmine "the Roman" Falcone at the moment.</p><p>It was not the best it had ever been (that would have been back before his wife left) but it was far from the worst it had ever been. There were the ongoing tensions between the Falcone crime family and the others in Gotham, but things were relatively calm at the moment. There had been some concern of possible police crackdown following the Wayne shooting but nothing too troublesome had manifested and what little attempts there were at butting into his business was dealt with swiftly. The new smuggling operation was up and running well with expected high profits. His son, Michael had even started taking more of an interest in the family business he would one day inherit. His daughter Julia had largely been keeping out of his hair and doing...whatever it was young twenty-something women did.</p><p>Which apparently currently included glaring at him from across the breakfast table. Oh, she had been saying something, hadn't she? "I'm sorry darling, I was thinking about work. What were you talking about?"</p><p>Julia dropped her fork. "I was talking about a project I was working on for class I thought you might be interested in."</p><p>"Of course, of course,... What are you studying?"</p><p>Michael glanced back and forth between his father and his sister before burying his nose in the sports section of the Gotham Times.</p><p>"Business."</p><p>"Right. So you were saying?"</p><p>As Julia began her story again, Carmine mentally began reviewing his tasks for today. A meeting with his lieutenants in the morning, he could get Michael to come with him to that, then a quick review of some newly acquired property. Not a whole lot that needed doing today. He might even have time to go to the museum in the afternoon.</p><p>Everything was going wonderfully for him and his business. And best of all, he was showing exactly what you could do with a little hard work and a whole lot of charm. Without the nepotism granted by that stupid flying bird society. <em>This was the American Dream</em>, and he had <em>made it</em>.</p><p>The 'Roman Empire' was on the up and up.</p><p>-.-.-.-</p><p>"Ugh, Julie, do I <em>have to</em>? I'm not interested."</p><p>"And you never have been. Dad doesn't care about that."</p><p>"Yeah but he's retiring soon. Can't I just, you know, just hand it over to you once Dad's out of the way?"</p><p>"Mikey. Do you really think that Dad'll accept you throwing the business at me willy-nilly?"</p><p>"Why not?" He whined, "You're actually <em>interested</em> in this stuff. Surfing professionally is my <em>dream,</em> Jules. And you'll actually support me in that!"</p><p>Julia Falcone patted her brother's arm as she sat down next to him. "I know, I'm…" She sighed, "I'm asking you - do you really think our dad will allow me to take over when he's determined to see you only as his heir-apparent?"</p><p>"Then what do we do?" Mikey pouted up at his younger twin.</p><p>"We make the changes we want. Whatever it takes."</p><p>"Jules, what are you saying?"</p><p>"The big barrier to me taking over here is Dad's refusal to consider me as an option. I've attempted to reason with him and that failed so now we need to take more drastic action."</p><p>"...You can't be serious. You can try reasoning with him again."</p><p>"Whenever I try, he ignores me. We are well past that. If he tries to retire, but you immediately pass on whatever he gave you to me, he'll still be around to object."</p><p>"Jules…"</p><p>"Thankfully I have another solution."</p><p>-.-.-.-</p><p>Of course there were problems with the chemical plant. Carmine really should have seen this coming. The old thing had been abandoned for ten years before they had bought it for dirt cheap. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Property for cheap and it would only take a little time and funds to fix it up so they could begin production. Some legal stuff, that they could sell to other manufactures and what not, but there was still plenty of space in the back rooms to work on the stuff that would make them real money on the streets and black market.</p><p>But naturally the building inspections came back with a couple dozen red flags on it.</p><p>"I'm going to have to get Claudio to supervise this whole project," he grumbled to Michael after explaining the report to him.</p><p>"Um," Michael shifted awkwardly. "If it's such a big deal shouldn't...shouldn't you look over it yourself? It's not like there is a lot going on right now."</p><p>"<em>Delegation</em> Michael. An important skill to learn for when you take over. One cannot do everything."</p><p>"But… wasn't this an asset you were personally interested in Dad? Wouldn't it be, you know, easier to do it yourself?"</p><p>Carmine smiled widely at his son - <em>finally</em> his heir was taking an interest! "You sound interested in the process Michael, would you like to come with me to see the new plant? See what we're going to do to bring it up to our operational standards?"</p><p>"I don't know? Um. Maybe?"</p><p>"Then we'll go."</p><p>-.-.-.-</p><p>"Alright Michael, so the first thing we're going to have to do is get the toxic waste out. Now the sensible thing would be to just hire out a cleaning company, but the more <em>profitable</em> thing to do is sell it."</p><p>Carmine used a long, plastic, stick with a glass test tube at the end of it to bring up a sample of the waste. He smiled as he deposited the sample into a device that ran an analysis on what the contents of the waste was.</p><p>"Would you look at that? Plenty of ammonia and calcium salts. Could be refined into fertiliser - but much more profitable in the hands of people who'd like to make things go <em>boom</em>."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"This plant didn't dispose of their wastes in an appropriate manner, so, they've left a lot of salts here in their reactive state. This is very good news for us. Hah! We'll show those birds yet!"</p><p>"Dad, maybe, it isn't such a good idea to get involved in a Turf War with the Owls."</p><p>"Nonsense, we're showing that there are <em>options</em> aside from them to grow strong in Gotham."</p><p>"Dad! You're not <em>listening</em> to me!"</p><p>"Of course, I am! And yes Michael, I am well aware that you're new to this but you have to <em>learn</em>, boy"</p><p>"It's MIKEY." He screamed, "I've told you again and again dad. I wanna be called <em>Mikey</em>."</p><p>"Well that's not the way the future leader of the Roman's Empire calls himself."</p><p>"Then maybe it's time for a regime change." Mikey said darkly, and with one smooth motion, he pushed his father over the railing into the toxic waste. A moment passed. Then another. And he fell down to his knees in shock. "Oh god. What have I done?"</p><p>Julia Falcone emerged from the shadows where she had waited and laid a comforting hand on her brother, "What we had to do Mikey, what we had to do."</p><p>-.-.-.-</p><p>Nothing made sense.</p><p>Everything made sense.</p><p>Et tu Michael?</p><p>There was a strange sort of pride that ran through Carmine's veins. Stiffening them, moulding them.</p><p>He resigned himself to his fate.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Orientating the Board: A New Front Part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Owl's are quiet! That's good!</p><p>But, Gotham is still Gotham. And things are rumbling...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It hadn’t taken too much time for Dick to recover enough for Bruce to clear him to go out again. </span>
  <span>When the time came Dick was eager to get back out there. They hadn’t heard anything about anything that could possibly be the Owls since Lois had published her article and he needed to know what was happening. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What they were planning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But first Bruce and his parents made sure that Dick had some new equipment to make his Owl hunt easier. He scavenged parts from the uniform he escaped in, and blended in new clothes that were dark to blend in with the shadows. Durable enough to put up with the amount of wear they would be getting and had plenty of pockets for supplies like bandages and a new grappling hook. Bruce had tried to suggest using some kind of additional utility belt, but Dick wanted to travel light so for now the pockets were more than sufficient. Bruce had also pointed out that if he was trying to go under the radar he needed a good facial covering and gotten him a mask that covered his eyes and part of the top of his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know,” Martha had said when he tried it on. “You look like a superhero.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not that powerful,” Dick argued.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You have an enhanced healing factor,” Bruce pointed out. “That’s a superpower.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s like, a fraction faster than normal according to the tests the Owls did. Hence why they were talking about the electrum infusion going too slow. Not quite a superpower.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick had headed out to the city from the cave that night. And the night after that. And every night for the past two weeks. (It was a bit of a distance to the main city from the Wayne estate. Note to self: learn to drive.) So far he hadn’t found anything that indicated current Owl activity. He knew he should be glad they were lying low and not actively hurting people but somehow it just made him more on edge. He needed something to do so he ended up spending most of his nights stopping muggings in back alleys.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now Gotham city was...well, as quiet as Gotham city ever got. Dick was sitting on a roof a couple blocks away from the docks listening to the quiet rumble of traffic on the street below. It was still only midnight, which was early in the night for him, but since not a lot was happening Dick was taking a moment to enjoy the skyline. Most of the buildings in this neighborhood were just a few stories tall so Dick wasn’t surrounded by skyscrapers and able to get a good look around. Despite it being the middle of the night it was far from dark. There were street lights, glowing signs from clubs and bars, and the occasional light glowing from apartment windows where people were awake. Dick lived for a long time underground, all alone. It could sometimes be a bit mind-boggling how many people were in Gotham.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The silence was interrupted by the sudden wailing of a police siren. A couple of cars sped down the street, lights flashing. It seemed Dick’s rest was over. He jumped up and ran to the edge of the roof before leaping onto the next one, following the police cars. They quickly got ahead of him but it didn’t take long for him to find where they had been heading. A block away the police cars had pulled up next to a third in front of an old stone building with the words “Gotham Sewer System” carved into the front above the entrance. The front entrance had already been blocked off with caution tape.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick settled in on a building across the street. “I wonder what happened here,” he whispered to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sergeant Kate Riordan pulled Barbara Gordon and Renee Montoya away from their beat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It happened again.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The dead bodies in a net with a trident sticking out of them of all things.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Babs and Renee glanced at each other and grimaced. Admittedly, this was Gotham, and a couple decades back, before the Waynes took a step back from being industrial mongols and focusing their efforts on dragging the entire city out of squalor, gruesome killings like this were not exactly uncommon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But still.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A net and a trident? Where would one even </span>
  <em>
    <span>get</span>
  </em>
  <span> those items? A museum? Or...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Renee tilted her head “Has anyone contacted Atlantis yet? Could be someone trying to frame them.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kate leaned against her desk. “Maybe. That’ll be a little outside our jurisdiction though - Gordon, you’ve got that fancy law degree, what’s our extradition laws like?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ll definitely have to get in touch with Atlantis.” Babs sighed. “And we’ll have to collaborate with one of the Alphabet Soup.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The other two women groaned. “Please, nothing that brings Waller even </span>
  <em>
    <span>close</span>
  </em>
  <span> to this.” Kate muttered under her breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, the least we can do is escalate to someone we can trust.” Babs mused. “I’m thinking… Agent Kane.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“FBI?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, afterall, she loves this city as much as we do. And! I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> she’s clean.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kate sighed. “If you trust her then go ahead and contact her.” She pushed off the desk and headed towards the door. “I’m going to check out the scene.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He waited there for twenty minutes, watching the small group of police officers move in and out of the building. Most of the buildings on this street appeared to be businesses or in various stages of disrepair, so the street was empty except for the small group of law enforcement. Dick counted five of them. He decided to chance moving closer. He dropped down the fire escape of a store a few buildings down then darted across the street. He crept through the alleys until he was within earshot of the police outside.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think this has to be the bloodiest one yet.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Seriously? Are we ranking them now?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, what else are we going to do?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now come on, we don’t know that it’s connected to any other deaths.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure. A bunch of Falcone’s men decided to drop dead separately, in isolated places, in ways that looked like it hurt.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There has always been intergang violence.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick noticed a window that had been left open a crack leading into the building. He didn’t have to go in. If the cops outside were right it was gang activity, nothing to do with the Owls. And no chance of them getting involved either. They had always considered themselves above “petty criminals.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he was curious. And there had been no trace of the Owls for weeks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It turned out the window had been left open a crack because it was nearly impossible to move. When Dick couldn’t move it with his hands he started poking around the alley for something to use as leverage. Eventually he found a small pipe he could wedge in the gap to try and pry it open.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bang!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey! What was that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re just a block away from the docks. Who knows what happens there at night.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, just ignore it, rookie.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick was torn between frustration with himself that despite all his stealth training that had just happened and indignance on behalf of the people of Gotham that their police would just ignore the sounds of someone breaking into a place. But before the police could change their minds he slipped into the building.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The main part of the building was one large empty space. Piles of debris had long since been pushed to the sides of the room. There were a couple of doors in the back wall probably led to other chambers in the building. A couple of lights were on near the front entrance but most of the room wasn’t illuminated. But Dick’s attention was caught by the body lying in a pool of blood in the middle of the room, wrapped in a net for some reason. Something that Dick couldn’t see clearly due to the dim light was sticking out of the body. The police hadn’t bothered to move it, or more likely hadn’t been allowed to until the forensic investigators had arrived.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The body had once been a tall muscular man with tattoos wrapped around one arm. Dick tentatively crept closer to get a look at the item sticking out of his chest. It turned out to be a trident. Several puncture marks were spread across his torso; he had been stabbed several times before whoever had killed him had been finished, though it probably hadn’t been necessary.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So the how of this seemed fairly obvious, though there were plenty of why questions that needed answering. Why kill him? Just regular violence between the gangs like the officers thought? Why not a gun or a regular knife? Another group who preferred weapons like tridents? The only one Dick could think of was Atlantis but he couldn’t imagine what business they would have in Gotham. Someone trying to frame them? He probably couldn’t find answers to any of those questions here. But why this building? Was there something else here?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick stepped away from the body and headed to the doors at the back wall. It was even darker back here so Dick had to take a moment to let his eyes adjust. He tried the first door... </span>
  <em>
    <span>locked</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he let out a frustrated grunt. He could pick the lock but the door didn’t look like it had been forced open at any point. He could leave it for now. The second door opened easily enough...to reveal a broom, mop, and empty bucket. Maybe this place had just been chosen because it was abandoned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You aren’t one of the officers on duty.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh no. First making a loud noise then losing himself in thought so someone could sneak up on him. Dick needed to get a grip on himself. He spun around to see a woman with bright red hair in a GCPD uniform standing by the body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She smiled. “So are you this ‘Guardian Angel’ our witnesses have been talking about? It’s nice to meet you. I’m Sergeant Kate Riordan.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Orientating the Board: A New Front Part 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A world is opened. An alliance is struck. And more players are drawn in.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dick’s best shot at escape was the window he had come in through. It would still be a bit of a dash over there but the policewoman didn’t have any weapons drawn so if he moved quickly he should be able to make it. The problem was the other officers outside. If she alerted them, it would be easy for them to get into the alley to try and cut him off. Still not impossible if he hadn’t already alerted him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Now you’re probably wondering how I knew who you were. You aren’t trying to make a name for yourself like that flying alien from Metropolis or that archer in Star City.” The woman shrugged. “But I try to keep my ear to the ground and there have been a lot of reports of a mysterious man with a mask helping people out when they need it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dick made a vague noise that he hoped implied he was following along. Running had been his first instinct but she didn’t seem hostile. And wait, had that many people told her about him that she knew to recognize him?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose it’s very typical of Gotham that our first hero would be one that sticks to the shadows. I can’t deny my curiosity but I’ll limit myself for now to just one question.” She pointed at the body in the middle of the room. “Why are you interested in this? This is the first I’ve heard of you poking around a murder.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Projecting his voice down into that contradictory velvety-rough baritone that had become a habit now, Dick, behind his mask, spoke. “I heard the sirens and was curious about what was going on.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” She smiled, “I, for one, welcome the interference of nosy do-gooders. About time! The only place that needs a cape more than Gotham is </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bludhaven</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” She shuddered and appeared to draw a cross over herself before refocusing on the shadowy figure.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dick straightened from his crouch and Kate watched as from the shadows, melted out a male figure. Lithe and predatorial, the dark clung to his steps as if reluctant to relinquish him from its hold.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Again, Kate mused privately, if the cities these caped crusaders popped up in reflected their homes - it stands to assume that you’d either produce something that was as bright and hopeful to stand as a beacon, or manifest the very essence of the darkness to reap justice. Looks like Gotham got the latter of the two.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We shouldn’t hang around the scene. But I was wondering - would you be willing to come with me? We could use some help that’s not entirely stifled by bureaucratic red tape.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Silently, Dick nodded.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kate was able to get the officers guarding the entrance to actually check out the potential strange noise they heard, leaving the doorway open for Dick to follow her out. As they walked down the street, Kate began explaining more about the body.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That building it was found in was the old sewer entrance. It’s not used for anything anymore but since it’s still city property, they have someone go and check it out every once in a while to make sure it’s not falling apart or anything. Normally the guy just comes in and looks in each of the rooms then leaves but when he showed up tonight, he just called the GCPD after the first room for, well, obvious reasons.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The body didn’t look that old,” Dick said. “Maybe five hours.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No. Which is good news for us so any clues should be fresh.” Kate made a mental note that while this may be his first murder case he had done his research to be able to tell how long a body had been dead.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The thing is,” she continued. “This is part of an ongoing series of deaths that have been occurring across the city. Here, let’s sit down.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They had been walking for several blocks and were now passing a small park that was empty at this time of night. Kate found a bench and sat down. Dick hesitantly took a seat next to her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So,” Kate said. “Here’s what I’ve got: all the victims have worked for the Falcones. The weapon has changed each time. Lately, our killer has been leaning towards stabbing, generally with something that would be easy for anyone to grab. A trident for this one is surprising since it’s such an unusual weapon. It’s hard to tell if this is a change in MO or if this is a different killer.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought you said they were all the same?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kate grimaced. “I don’t think it’s likely but we can’t fully eliminate the possibility. Most of my coworkers actually do think these are all separate cases.” She rolled her eyes. “But there are too many similarities. Another possibility is choosing something so noticeable is an attempt to redirect suspicion on to someone else. The only people to regularly use weapons like tridents-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are Atlanteans.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kate nodded. “Yep. Third possibility is that the killer actually is Atlantean and just accidentally left a big clue behind on this one. We won’t be able to tell unless another body turns up.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Which we are trying to prevent.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course. But that means we just have the clues we have now.” She sighed, “Even if the rogue Atlantian theory is basically the most unlikely - we’ve probably got to start talking to people. This might spiral out into a war because - you know, defamation.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dick frowned. If the most recent death was just an outlier then what about the others? “Did you have any other theories before tonight?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kate sighed. “How familiar are you with the current leaders of the various gangs in Gotham?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not very. I’m new, remember?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The Falcones recently had a change in leadership. The old leader, Carmine Falcone, had been running the group for the past thirty years. He built them up from a mid-level gang to one of the great powers of the Gotham underground. He’s gone now.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“As in retired or dead?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dead, presumably.” She grit her teeth in frustration. “We don’t know for sure. He’s been missing for the last month. His son, Michael, who he was grooming to take over the family business is nominally in charge.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nominally?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The police don’t know exactly what kind of power struggle is currently happening. But there has been very little word about some of the higher ranking members of the gang. If Michael just wanted to take over, there was no reason to get rid of his dad. He was going to leave it to him anyway. But despite some surprising quiet it seems to have been a relatively smooth transfer of power. Michael might be in charge or he might just be a figurehead.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And what do you think?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I have two theories but not a lot to back up either of them. First of all, I doubt whatever change of leadership the Falcone’s had… it probably wasn’t as peaceful as it first appeared. It was abrupt afterall. Someone could have easily seized their moment. This could be an opportunity to remove further obstacles. Or the other alternative is that it’s completely unrelated to all that. It’s not unsurprising that the Falcones would have a lot of people with grudges against them. It’s probably just one person striking back as opposed to a group since these mostly seem to have been opportunistic hits. The only question would be why now?” She had begun talking faster as she went along, speaking in a rush to get her theories out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I...see.” Dick took a moment to process this information. He had been aware of Gotham’s gangs but had never had much need to think about them before now. There was a lot to take in and this was just about one case concerning one group. There had always been an awareness of the underworld outside of the Owls, but he had been so intrinsically tied to the Stygian world that he’d tunnel-visioned on the elements of the underworld outside of them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve stumbled into a larger world than you thought you would.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So it seems.” He acknowledged warily.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“One step at a time then, we can’t go looking gift horses in their mouths now, can we?” Kate smiled as she slipped a USB from the inside of her jacket, leaving it on the bench under the pool of light from the streetlamp. She watched as a - was that </span>
  <em>
    <span>claws</span>
  </em>
  <span> - hand emerged from the shadows to pluck it from where she had left it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s everything we’ve managed to digitise about the case. I was going to bring it home with me but I can just make another copy at the office tomorrow. So far it’s just been a small circle of groundwork cops that I’ve been in contact with - that we know for certain that are clean. I mean, the older Gordon is clean too, but he’s higher up - so he’s no longer dealing with the corruption on our levels.” Kate stared into the dark and nodded. “Officer Gordon, the younger, Barbara, would probably be a good point of contact if you can’t reach me. If all else fails, Detective Montoya would probably be able to help…” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are you so convinced I can help?” Dick interrupted her. “I’ve just been stopping muggings so far.” At least, as far as she knew. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kate looked away. “Honestly? I was hoping you’d be willing to work with us from when we first heard about you. The GCPD has a lot of corruption problems that make it hard to get work done within the system. For those of us willing to bend the law a little, keeping justice as the ultimate goal…” She sighed again, before turning back to face him. “We wear a badge, therefore there are eyes on us - but you. You can go and wade firmly into those murky waters without fear of a court martial or a media firestorm.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The lilac-eyed boy squeaked as the door to the Atlantean delegation office opened, and he near-dove behind one of the numerous potted plants planted in the small meeting room he had turned into something of his private home-schooling area.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It really wasn’t like he could precisely study water-sorcery in the school most diplomats’ children attended. There was also that pesky thing he had with dehydration - although Arthur was right, he was learning to tolerate the surface more and more as he grew older.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Still, knowing he could just </span>
  <em>
    <span>dunk</span>
  </em>
  <span> himself into the salt-water pool just behind the large tinted glass doors was </span>
  <em>
    <span>comforting</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Garth?” Donna poked her head in. “I was having a bit of trouble with the incantation translation so Diana basically told me to shove off and come to you about it. Also! I heard a bit of gossip!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Garth peeked out from the desk, “Problems with incantation?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve been trying to translate between the differences in the codex and the point at which Themiscryan and Atlantean split from Ancient Greek. Given that the language used for Atlantean sorcery is almost the same as Ancient Themiscryan - I figured I’d skip wrecking my brain and come to the guy who actually knows what’s being said.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Garth smiled at his friend. “And the gossip?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh! I’m not surprised it hasn’t made its way up to you guys yet. I mean, I only heard because Agent Trevor was brought in by FBI’s Agent Katherine Kane - something about tridents being used by a series of murders in Gotham.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Orientating the Board: Investigations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In honour of one of Dick's MANY birthdays, we have the beginnings of sleuthing and more sleuthing elsewhere!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“So this is your first big case!” Thomas said. “Aren’t you excited?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t even know how to go about solving a mystery,” Dick said. Sgt. Riordan’s files were spread out across the Wayne family dining room table. The printer had run for a good part of the day - and a run to the local Best Buy had to be made to pick up more printer ink. Most were just copies of individual case reports and autopsies but there were some notes made in the margins, presumably made by Kate on the few similarities between particular cases.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He groaned and gazed about the room, glad that he wasn’t tackling this alone - and that his new family had decided that they’d pitch in - even if Bruce and Thomas looked just as confused as he was. Martha was laying back with a glass pressed against her temple and Alfred? Alfred just stared down at the files, a sort of grim determination setting his shoulders.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce cocked his head to one side as he considered the case files. Diagnostics had some similarities to detective work. Just that they ‘arrested’ debilitating conditions rather than criminals. If common things held a common pattern to form a common condition - then it stood to reason that the pattern he was spotting had to be related.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hang on. Something just popped out at me.” Bruce grabbed a highlighter from his trouser pocket and leaned over the files. He highlighted a random detail that had jumped out at him from the laboratory analysis. All of the cases had </span>
  <em>
    <span>oleic acid</span>
  </em>
  <span> as one of the components of the substances found surrounding the wound. All of them in traces of varying amounts - easily dismissable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Olive oil?” Thomas said incredulously.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s what that is?” Dick asked, still confused.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thomas scratched at his goatee, “Well, yes - and it’s strange that there were those traces on all the cases. Also strange that no one thought to look into it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I guess they assumed they were all using some sort of olive oil based moisturiser or eating something with olive oil in it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“True.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick tapped his arm in thought, “Were there any samples taken from the wound itself?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No? I don’t think so - people really don’t pay attention to the wounds on a cadaver sent for a coroner’s autopsy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick continued tapping his fingers, “Are there any other compounds that repeat?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are you thinking of Dick?” Bruce asked, concerned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Blade cleaning oil</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know - I was just thinking that it would be a really funny thing if someone was using olive oil as a metal cleaning product. It’s kinda a hunch?” He shrugged.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Has that ever been a thing?” Bruce turned to Alfred, who had remained quiet the entire time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Vinegar and olive oil is a tried and proven stainless steel cleaning method.” He mused. “I have no doubts that our ancient brethren knew this too.” He leaned over the table and browsed through the laboratory results, “There. Trace amounts of acetic acid found. Unless they dismissed it as salad dressing being spilt on the body.” Alfred stood up straight once again, pondering, “Although what really caught my attention is the fact the expressions on the victims faces were all that of surprise.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe they all knew the killer?” Dick suggested. “Wait…” He lifted an eyebrow at Alfred, “How do you know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We... don’t tend to ask what Alfred did in the SIS.” Thomas said sheepishly while Bruce grinned at the older English gentleman. “I think we’re all a little afraid of asking. Mum might actually know - but then again she’s the bravest one of us.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why does that not surprise me?” Dick said, rolling his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Alfred shook his head indulgently. “Anyway, they all appear surprised. They all seem to be involved some way with the Falcones…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick looked up from where he had been going through the cadaver photos. “Hey Alfred, Bruce, there’s a weird discolouration on all of their pinkies.” He dove back into the pile, “I think the higher up members of the Falcone ‘family’ had something of an identifier?” Deep within the dregs of the case files was a solitary report from a man who went into witness protection. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This was one of Riordan’s cases. She had apparently managed to convince a founding member of the Falcone empire to defect and then no attention whatsoever was paid to the case. Curious.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you think this is funny?” Dick asked. “K. Riordan got a known founder of the Falcone family to go into witness protection and give up information about how exactly ‘the Roman’s Empire’ worked. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing </span>
  </em>
  <span>was said about it. Kate didn’t even tell me about it.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Thomas picked up the printed document to give it a read. “What’s even stranger is the date - see here, Dick?” He quickly underlined the date the report was made. “Late ‘80s. That’s a good couple of years or so before Kate joined the GCPD.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think I can help with that,” Martha, silent till now spoke up, “Kenneth Riordan. Kate’s uncle. Second Riordan cop to have been ‘suddenly’ transferred out of Bludhaven up into Gotham under the guise of a promotion - first was Kate’s dad, Sean.” She shook her head, “And the trickle of Riordans serving and protecting Gotham hasn’t stopped since.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know, I’ve heard Harvs joke about that once.” Bruce interjected, “Bludhaven’s loss was Gotham’s gain, he said.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So the K. Riordan here might be Kate’s uncle then?” Dick asked in confirmation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick browsed through the information, “Luca Falcone, the late Carmine Falcone’s uncle. Officially declared dead, killed by another gang… Who actually turned snitch in order to get out and go on the straight and narrow. His details under witness protection aren’t here but, there are some things we can glean. The green discolouration is… probably from the copper rings, that all higher ups wore on their little fingers as an identifier. Strange.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce’s eyes lit up. “Well you just put it together, didn’t you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Think about it, Dick! Oleic acid, acetic acid - not exactly a </span>
  <em>
    <span>conventional</span>
  </em>
  <span> way of cleaning metals. You’ve basically shown us that the possibility of this being the same person is greater than it being a group of people. Especially combined with the victims all being associated with the Falcones, and fairly high up!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick grinned at his adopted father as something else clicked in his mind. “Carmine was declared dead - here’s his death certificate. But,” He pulled out the death certificates issued for the recent victims, “See here? The signature on this looks too close to a copy and paste of this one.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Donna, should we really be doing this?” Garth nervously twiddled his thumbs as he crouched behind his friend. “I mean, this isn’t exactly a </span>
  <em>
    <span>legal</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing to do. And we’re role models and representatives of our respective countries. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And we’re minors, Donna</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Donna shushed Garth as she strained to listen into the conversation between Steve Trevor, Katherine Kane, and Lori Lemaris.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lady Lori, you know the tridents look bad.” She heard Agent Trevor say.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know, and I also know that this could be the result of a xenophobic hate crime. Look, we undersea dwellers know that surface dwellers still aren’t quite ready to accept us fully - but honestly, I’d speak to Ronal before I escalate it up to His Majesty and the Marine Council. Sometimes, you need a doctor’s touch for breaking bad news you see.” She sighed, “Isn’t this a headache and a half - we’re gonna need a press statement.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry about dragging you into my hometown’s mess.” Agent Kane winced.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No worries. We were expecting these things to happen sooner or later - the whole reason I ended up in this spot is because of my years pretending to be human in Met U after all.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Donna’s eyes widened, “Did you know that?” She hissed at Garth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, yeah? It’s fairly well known. The Lemarises have always watched the surface. They were supposed to be the ones to alert us when revealing ourselves would be considered a good move. So Lady Lori posed as a human for a while - we didn’t just fish her hydration wheelchair out of nowhere.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their attention turned back to the conversation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The case is still slow going. There has been another trident-related murder in Gotham.” They heard Agent Kane sigh. “I’ll keep you posted.”</span>
  <span></span><br/>
<span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Garth looked at the twinkle in the teenaged Amazonian princess’s eyes. “Oh no Donna. No. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Donna Troy, we're not sneaking out to Gotham!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She looked at him and smirked.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Also, one of our most loyal commentors, DreamstarMoonlight created an AMAZING piece of coverart for us in a collab with AireensColor!</p><p>Find his tumblr post about the work here: https://dreamstarmoonlight.tumblr.com/post/645067111960592384/renegade-stalemate-cover-art</p><p>And AireensColor's Instagram here:<br/>https://www.instagram.com/aireenscolor/?hl=en</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Orientating the Board: Advance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Dick's observations turn out to be more than a hunch.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sergeant Kate Riordian </span>
  <em>
    <span>started</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She whirled around, scanning the room, making note of the shadows and the exits.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sergeant?” Came a voice from the shadows. Kate instantly relaxed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know… You never really told me what to call you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Does it matter? Look, Sergeant, I came because I needed a bit of clarification.” The darkness gave up the figure as he melted out of the shadows.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That being?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This,” He pulled out the digitised copy of the death certificate of Carmine Falcone. “I couldn’t help but notice that the signatures almost seemed too similar. Too… perfect, so to speak.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kate raised a brow and stood, “Gimme a bit, I’ll go grab the hardcopies.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The GCPD headquarters was never really quiet, full of shift staff at various points. You could never truly tell, however, who was straight or shady. Logically, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> there were other pockets of cops who weren’t on the take outside her family and the small circle she’d made with Babara and Renee, but knowing and having that faith to reach out beyond your little circle? That wasn’t a risk she was willing to play.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The archives, unlike the rest of the headquarters, weren’t quite as bustling. The head archivist ruled her little domain with the ferocity of a librarian too used to maintaining perfect silence. As a rule of thumb - no one wanted to try to wrest the old musty files out of her hands. It was said, the only people she tolerated were the ones that delivered new data for her ‘collection’.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were </span>
  <em>
    <span>reasons</span>
  </em>
  <span> why the greenhorns were the ones most sent to grab any reference material. She provided dubious mercy to the ‘rookies’ of her realm. At least 3 visits worth of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kate took a deep breath and entered the archives.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Officer Faron?” The dark eyes of the African-American woman flickered up to her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sergeant Riordan. You messed up the filing system for the month of June 2001.” She leaned back in her chair, glaring over her cat-eyed frames. “I’m surprised you didn’t send me a greenie to grab whatever information you needed.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’m… sorry about the drawer?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Took me a good right unnecessary amount of time to put that thing back in order.” She said as her eyes narrowed.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I really am sorry.” Kate hung her head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So why has the ‘Cupcake with a Gun’ come to me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s about the Falcone family-related murders. I just got a tip that some things might not be as it seems.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Officer Faron stood and with barely a pad of her kitten heels she swept to the drawer in question and pulled out the file.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Better. And you’d best keep it in the order it came in.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kate gulped, “Yes ma’am.” and scurried back to her office where, hopefully, the new resident vigilante hadn’t taken off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Under his mask, Dick watched as Sergeant Riordian re-entered her room, she glanced about, “You still there?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She meticulously paged through the file for the death certificates, turning over the pages of paper, until she swore. “Looks like you’re right - it was too perfect.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was wondering if we were dealing with a scanned signature printed onto the paper - I know digital signatures are rising in popularity, but I couldn’t be sure.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The City Council surrendered the official death certificates to us until the case gets closed.” She turned over the paper, running a hand over the smoothness of where a pen should have pressed down, “No embedding.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Diana looked up from her documents to grin at Agent Trevor. “Steve! I’m sorry about the mess, I wasn’t expecting anyone - I was just finishing up some proposals before the UN meets next quarter.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The blond-haired man returned her smile before he winced, “Sorry, I’ve got to be the tattle-tale.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Donna?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She eavesdropped on a meeting between Lady Lemaris, Agent Kane of the FBI and I. The trident calling card.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Diana groaned, “So you’re telling me to keep an eye out because my baby sister might just run off to a city that’s still mired in crime.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dragging King Arthur’s adopted son along for the ride, I suspect.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Amazonian Princess huffed out a breath and dialed a number, the minute she heard the connection, she spoke, “Kal-El?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your Highness?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Could you please put me on the line with Ms Lane?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve Trevor shook his head in delight, “I can’t believe that you use </span>
  <em>
    <span>Superman</span>
  </em>
  <span> as Ms Lane’s secretary!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I never got her number. And Kal-El said something about never letting the two of us meet because we’d inevitably accidentally take over the world or something like that.” She held up a finger as she heard Lois come on the line.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve just chuckled and made himself comfortable on the sofa, pulling out his PDA to sort through briefings while Diana made conversation.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Lois? Please tell me you have contacts in Gotham.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-.-.-.-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And then, I had to give Harvey a heads up! Bruce, I thought maybe an Atlantean would try and nose around - that makes </span>
  <em>
    <span>sense</span>
  </em>
  <span> but </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Apparently we have a nosy all of sixteen year old Amazonian princess instead!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And you’re telling me this because?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I need to vent somewhere and Clark’s just been laughing at me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m still trying to get over the fact that </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wonder Woman</span>
  </em>
  <span> likes you enough to turn </span>
  <em>
    <span>Superman</span>
  </em>
  <span> into your secretary.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not going to happen again, I gave her my number.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce dropped his face into a palm, “You and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wonder Woman</span>
  </em>
  <span> exchanged personal phone numbers. You basically have Superman on </span>
  <em>
    <span>speed dial</span>
  </em>
  <span> with all your exclusive interviews. What is even your life?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Should’ve joined me in journalism, cuz.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce watched as Dick entered the room and raised an eyebrow at him and smiled. “You know? I think I’m good - medicine is right where I should be. I gotta go. Dick and I have our weekly Smash Bros tournament to get to.” He hung up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Really?” Dick asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, we do tend to do that Smash Bros battle once a week at least.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not the question.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I really doubted you wanted to talk to me about what happened with Sergeant Riordian while Lois was still about. Besides - you’re the one that decided to keep the circle of people in the know to family only.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick rolled his eyes as they made their way to the game room, “True.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now, tell me what you’ve got.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So there’s a distinct possibility that no one ever </span>
  <em>
    <span>saw</span>
  </em>
  <span> Carmine Falcone’s cadaver. The death certificate? Forged.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But didn’t the Falcone’s have an open casket funeral?” Bruce mused, “If you’re trying to say that Carmine was murdered too, then the body wouldn’t have looked as pristine as it did. The tabloids ran the funeral pictures and everything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick winced, “That’s why I was thinking… Could you ‘borrow’ one of those portable X-Ray machines or something? I’ve got another hunch.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Orientating the Board: Latrones</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The pieces fall into place, and out of Gotham's underbelly creeps out a new face. Literally.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter's name is Latrones - which was a two-player strategy board game played throughout the Roman Empire. Why is this important? You'll see!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Alright, the grave is in section D, row five.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was after visiting hours in the East Gotham cemetery. Dick had easily been able to climb over the back fence. Bruce had taken a bit more effort to haul himself up but the real effort had been getting the x-ray machine over. It was about as big as Dick was, even compacted down. They had managed with the help of some rope, Dick pulling on one side, and Bruce pushing on the other.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>While Bruce checked the x-ray over to make sure it hadn’t sustained any damage from being pulled over, Dick took a look around the graveyard. It was quiet and dark at this time of night. Light from the street lamps on the main road leaked into the edge of the graveyard but aside from them, the only light came from a circle around the American flag in the military section of the graveyard which was illuminated by a spotlight. That was section F, Dick remembered from the map he and Bruce had pulled up online. Section D shouldn’t be far away. He gestured for Bruce to follow him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were halfway across the graveyard when the sound of a car pulling up interrupted the quiet. Bruce and Dick ducked behind a few gravestones. The car was sleek and black. It came to a stop at the end of one of the pathways and five people got out. Three of them were large and muscular, the others were a young man and a young woman. They were around the same height, with dark hair. The larger men had flashlights to light the way through the graveyard. The small group walked off in the same direction that Bruce and Dick had been heading towards.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did someone beat us here?” Bruce asked. “Your officer friend?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think so. Kate knew I would be looking into this and seemed to trust me to do so. And why would she be here at this time of night? If she had permission, she would just do it during the day.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The group came to a stop in section D in front of a large marble grave. Since they had already been most of the way there themselves, Bruce and Dick were close enough to hear them when the young man and woman began to speak.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So here we are,” the woman said. “I’m not sure what you want to say that you couldn’t say during the funeral but feel free.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know what I couldn’t say then.” The young man took a flashlight from one of his companions and stepped towards the grave. The beam illuminated the name on the grave, Carmine Falcone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi Dad, it’s me. And some friends.” He gestured behind him to the rest of the group. “I didn’t think we needed to bring them but Julie insisted.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Someone is killing my people all over the city,” the woman said. “We weren’t going out without protection.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The young man sighed. “I’d rather be visiting during the day but due to the current situation, Julie decided this was safest.” The young man turned around and gestured to the woman who was hanging back with the gangsters. “She’s here too. Julie, do you want to say hi to Dad?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m good, Mikey,” Julie said. “It’s not like he can hear us anyway.” She pulled out her phone to check something. “But you can take as much time as you need.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mikey turned back to the grave. “I really am sorry that everything turned out the way it did. I didn’t want to have to…” He trailed off and stood there for a second, staring at the grave. “I’m sorry. I wish there was a way for things to be different.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick heard a small noise coming from somewhere off to his left. Bruce didn’t seem to have heard it, nor did the group gathered by Carmine Falcone’s grave. He peered into the darkness. A dark shape was curled up behind a tall cenotaph in section F. For a brief moment, he thought he saw a flash of light reflecting off of something metallic before the figure shifted. Dick nudged Bruce and gestured towards it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Should we get out of here and try another night?” Bruce asked. “It’s getting pretty crowded here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick frowned, thinking. They weren’t going to get close to the casket tonight, but something was going on here.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I suppose,” Mikey continued. “I was hoping saying good-bye would give me some sort of closure. I hope wherever you are in the afterlife, you can understand-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What is there to understand? You killed me. Patricide is a very serious crime.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The group by the grave spun around to look at the cenotaph. The figure behind it had stepped out into the circle of light created by the spotlight on the flag. It was a man dressed in what appeared to be some kind of homemade armor, with sheets of metal strapped to him. In one hand he held a net, in the other a trident. This was already pretty unusual and surprising but what was most shocking of all was his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was entirely metallic. The light reflected off of its silvery sheen. Dick would have thought it was a mask but when he continued to speak the lips moved.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you have nothing to say? You seemed to have a great many things you wanted to say to me earlier.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who are you?” cried Mikey. The gangsters moved to stand between the man and Mikey and Julie.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t recognize me, the man you dethroned, the man who raised you?” The man’s voice grew louder as he continued talking. “You don’t recognize your own father?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julie scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. Dad’s body was dissolved by the chemicals.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s what you thought. By the grace of the gods I was spared the Underworld and stand before you today. I stand before you to make you answer for your crime.” The man, Carmine Falcone apparently, began striding forward. “You, my beloved son, took my life, took my empire. It all would have been yours one day anyway. But no, you got impatient.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” Mikey gasped. “No I-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have returned, with the blessings of the gods, to take my revenge upon you and all those who aided you in-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god. Seriously?” Julie suddenly stormed in front of the gangsters. One of them tried to reach out and stop her but she shot him a glare and he backed down. She turned her piercing gaze on her father. “It was me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You- what?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I overthrew you. I orchestrated the plot to kill you. It was me.” She crossed her arms. “Me. The one who always wanted to take over but you kept ignoring. The one who worked for this to try and prove myself to you but ultimately had to resort to the only way you would ever allow it. Now, since you’re talking about revenge, I assume you’re the one who has been killing my best men?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You-” Falcone froze and just stared at her for a moment, perhaps really seeing her for the first time. “You- you must have put your brother up to this. You- YOU TOOK EVERYTHING FROM ME.” He lowered his trident to point at her and charged.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julie took a step back and gestured to her guards. “Shoot him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The guards pulled out their guns and took aim but Falcone was moving quickly. He was upon the first man just as the first bullets went flying past him. There was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>crunch</span>
  </em>
  <span> as the trident plunged into his chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dick held back Bruce who seemed to start forward at the carnage. “No, don’t. Bruce, we can’t let them know we’re here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dick, I can’t..”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No!” He hissed quietly, “What was it you told me? The first thing a first responder learns when they make an evaluation? Is it safe?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In their little hidden section of the graveyard, Bruce settled back while Dick guided them silently into a mausoleum. “It’s not. I can’t believe that I’m just going to sit here and watch.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The other two guards had tossed aside their guns and were going after Falcone with their fists. He had gotten in close when he had skewered their companion so he dropped his trident and swung his fist into an eye. Julie had started dragging her brother, who was frozen in shock, away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Finish him!” She called. “He’s a dead man walking!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One of the guards shoved Falcone off of him. This gave Falcone enough space to throw his net, tangling him up. The other guard was still able to run up and tackle him. The first guard took the opportunity to shake off the net and race to help his companion. Before he could get there Falcone threw him over his shoulder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is not the end!” He hollered in the direction Julie and Mikey were escaping. “I will get you!” He jumped backwards, dodging a guard.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two guards had positioned themselves surrounding him. Falcone looked around and saw that one of them was reaching for his gun again. He reached down, grabbed some dirt and flung it in the other man’s face before bolting past him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I will be back! The gods will have their revenge!” He screamed as he climbed up and over the fence as fast as Dick had.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two guards had started to give chase, but he was long gone before they got close to the fence. The two of them looked at one another and shrugged. They turned around and followed Julie and Mikey to the car.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Within a few minutes, the sleek black car had driven off. Silence descended on the graveyard again. It was empty; except for Bruce, Dick, and a freshly dead body with a trident sticking out of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Bruce said. “I guess that answers some questions.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And raises several more.” Dick sighed, “I’m going to have to grab any security tapes and give the Sergeant a call.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>